Roomies
by sunburntdaisy
Summary: Another season three what-if scenario... when Peter is homeless, he DOES stay a few nights at Fitzgerald's, just to prove that Assumpta, married to Leo, doesn't phase him.
1. Chapter 1

This picks up from the conversation between Peter and Assumpta just after she's married Leo...

"Aren't you going to stay at our place?" She knew, even as she asked the question, that he wouldn't. The way he'd looked at her just moments ago – no. They needed time. Space.

"Actually, no, I've already made other arrangements."

"Well you're not going to stay in that thing are you?"

"Why not? Sacraments on wheels, twenty four hours a day, christenings, confessions, instant weddings."

"Right." She turned to go. She could hardly blame him. "If you change your mind."

"Yeah. Bye."

He didn't go in for a drink that evening. And it wasn't as if he was actually _sleeping_ in the sacristy, just lying on the floor when the place was broken in to.

The next night was the pub tournament. Niamh stepped up and offered her spare room, thank heaven, but then her father arrived at the last minute, homeless and worse-off for it than Peter. And Brian was family. So Father Clifford was out, back to the sacristy.

Father Mac was furious when he found out - sleeping in the sacristy, drawing attention to himself. Nothing brings home fury like a heart attack. Peter vowed to find more suitable accommodation. There was nothing for it but Fitzgerald's. He almost relished it, being bullied into proving, to himself and anyone else who cared to notice, that he wasn't in the least bit shaken by the landlady's recent nuptials.

"Of course." Assumpta looked shaken when he asked. "Erm, give me a minute to get it sorted, yeah?"

He nodded. "I'll bring my things over later."

"You're moving in?"

"For the meantime. Don't worry, it all fits in one bag. I'll clean up after myself."

"Ah, well then, you'd better have a discounted rate."

"That's a relief."

She looked like she wanted to say something else but forced a closed-lipped smile and went to serve a customer.

Given the opportunity she escaped into the kitchen for a breather, a chance to react. Peter was going to stay under the same roof while time Leo was staying in her room – gah! She needed to stop thinking of it as _her_ room. Of course Leo was staying in the same room. He was her husband.

And what was Peter? Her priest? No, he was a friend. And a homeless one at that. She'd get over this – whatever _this_ was. She had to. For everyone's sake.

* * *

Peter avoided the pub, and it was easily done, doing Father Mac's work as well as his own. Leo was ever-present anyway – a helpful reminder, unpleasant though it may be.

The only challenge came in the evening. The bar was busy and hiding away in his room would only draw attention – something he was apparently quite adept at. He could stay up at the church for some of the evening at least. There he might escape curiosity. A priest never needed to answer for spending too many hours in a church.

But Assumpta spotted him coming in and noticed his absence from then on. How was it possible the man was living under the same roof and she saw him even less than before? The next evening he had a beer with Michael Ryan in the distant corner and then disappeared. It wasn't busy. Even Leo could handle this crowd.

"I need some air. Won't be long." She took off before anyone could question her.

She made a deal with herself. She'd do two laps. If she spotted Peter she'd approach him, she'd try. He was clearly having a hard time of it and perhaps he needed a friend. They had been good friends once.

She didn't see him, but she saw the church was open. She knew he'd be in there. On the second lap she went in, feeling like a traitor to her deal, even if it had only been struck with herself.

She stopped at the threshold, spotting him on his knees near the front. She didn't want to interrupt so she took a seat near the back.

She'd been in that church so many times as a child. And then, for a long time, not at all. In the past two years it had become a small part of her life again, in a strange way, and mostly because of the man near-keeled over at the front.

He let out a groan, frustration or pain. It got her right in the gut. She should leave. He'd be humiliated if she alerted him to her presence now.

Before she got a chance, he stood. She glimpsed his face for just a moment before he saw her; exhaustion, confusion, fear.

"Assumpta-"

"Sorry."

He looked away.

She stood. "I should have said something when I came in."

"No, no it's fine. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." She wondered for a moment why he'd ask, but then realised that her being in a church at all was something of a marvel. "Oh, I just – ah, I noticed you seemed a little – I don't know." She stepped out into the aisle. He wasn't moving closer to her but she couldn't have this conversation from the other side of a room. "I just wanted to be sure you were okay."

"I'm fine." He said.

She watched him.

"I'll be fine." He insisted.

She nodded. He didn't want to confide in her, clearly. It hurt, but she should leave it alone. "We were good friends once." She said quietly, wistful.

His eyes drilled into her. "There's nothing to say now that will change anything."

"No?"

He shook his head.

She steeled herself. "Fine."

He spoke earnestly at last. "I'm sorry. I just can't." His voice wavered.

She ached for him, desperate to help, desperate to offer any small thing. "It's okay, Peter. You don't have to explain. But you don't have to be alone."

"Yes, I do."

Again, she couldn't help but be hurt. He saw it in her features and stepped toward her, then jerked to a stop. "Don't ask me."

"Don't ask you what?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. You'd better get back."


	2. Chapter 2

As if he needed more on his plate, there were numerous complaints and concerns about Assumpta's women's group. Ridiculous concerns, but numerous nonetheless. It came to the point where he had to speak to her about it.

"Can I have a word about your woman's group." He stepped up to the bar, a fabulously solid piece of furniture which also boasted a public setting.

"You don't approve?" She sounded like she fully expected him to rage against feminism but he wouldn't rise to the argument. He had a piece to say. He'd say it and get out of there.

"I know you're not trying to bring the church down."

"What makes you so sure?"

He barely reacted, just delivered his bit: "Other people have different views from you and their ideas deserve as much respect as yours."

"Well, I've had no complaints."

"That's because you're not the one the busy-bodies complain to. I've had an earful."

"Well that's your job, Peter, caring and listening."

He tried, and failed, not to look hurt.

"Hang on a minute, we wouldn't be talking about the busy-body who runs the shop across the road?"

"Ah – lots of people."

"So she's the one who's been destroying my posters?"

"Assumpta, will you just-" this was not the plan.

"I'm right, aren't I?" She started for the end of the bar. "Okay." She was never one to take anything lying down. He should have seen this coming. So much for helping matters.

She returned from the scuffle clearly unsatisfied, glared at Peter, and then busied herself behind the bar. He left before she looked over again. He didn't return till late and went straight to his room.

"Well that's your job, Peter, caring and listening." Her own words reverberated in her head. So much for being a good friend. She couldn't sleep that night. Leo had gone on another of his long walks. She was restless. There was nothing to do but shut up shop. She didn't get ready for bed, just lay on top of the covers, failing to rouse any interest in a book she'd been meaning to read for ages. She was waiting for Leo, she told herself.

There were noises downstairs. It wouldn't be a break-in, she assured herself, just Leo, or Peter. Maybe Peter needed something and couldn't find it.

She went down and found him in the kitchen.

He jumped on hearing her approach, forced a smile, "It's just water."

"No, it's fine. Help yourself to – whatever you need."

"Thanks. I should head up anyway."

"I'm sorry." She jumped at the chance, "For what I said earlier. It's not your problem."

"Yes it is."

"No, I mean -" she sighed, "It's awfully easy to turn everyone around here paranoid."

He half-laughed. "That was the goal?"

"Of course not."

He shook his head. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Not this." She realised she might well be answering a different question – or the same question but on a very different topic.

"Did you even consider-?" He stopped himself short, put down his cup. "I'm sorry. I should go to bed."

"I did, you know." She stood in his way, angling her head, trying to look him in the eye. Then she clarified, "Consider you."

"What?"

"That's what this is, isn't it? You don't look this knackered because Kathleen Hendley's got her knickers in a twist, you-" she faltered when he looked at her, "This is about you and me?"

"Assumpta-" he tried to turn the conversation, assure her it wasn't that, but he couldn't find the words.

"Just say it. Maybe that's the key to putting it all behind us. God, if your being a priest and my being married isn't enough-"

He glanced at the door, as if they were being over heard.

"He's not here." She said.

"Where is he?"

She shrugged, shook her head. "No idea."

"He's gone?" He looked genuinely worried.

"He's walking off writer's block. He's trying to figure out why we all haven't upped and moved to Dublin where _it's_ _happening_."

Peter swallowed. "I should go to bed."

"Because running off has worked so well for us in the past."

"What do you want me to say?" He snapped.

She was surprised, almost satisfied to have gotten past the veneer, but she couldn't answer his question.

"You want me to be fine with this? Well I'm trying my very best, Assumpta, but I can only fake it for so many hours of the day. I'm sorry if that's inconvenient for you."

She swallowed back tears, recognising the agony he was in – and at her hand. "I thought it would be easier." She stepped toward him. "I thought, if there was a definite line we couldn't cross, then we could go back to what we were – before."

"Good friends."

She couldn't look at him. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

She should leave, get out of arm's reach, and fast. But she couldn't quite summon the strength to move.

"Look, I'll find some other place to stay." He said, then stepped around her. "Maybe you're right. Maybe one day."

He was behind her now, he couldn't see the tears spilling onto her cheeks so she let them spill.


	3. Chapter 3

Her words worked a track in his head. She'd gotten married just to put a 'definite line' between them? There was no way – surely she couldn't have meant it like that. She must have spoken without thinking. She couldn't care for him. Not like that. He needed for her to feel _nothing_ for him. That was the only way he could go on. That was the only way he could give her up.

In theory he'd already given her up, but his retreat had turned into a joke in the face of the news he returned to. What she was asking for – a return to the friendship they'd had _before_ – was just what he'd wanted, just what he'd hoped for, on leaving the retreat centre, full of determination, inspiration, resolve...

And now? He couldn't sleep. He lay awake, in her home, and heard Leo come in. He waited for the muffled sound of distant conversation and dreaded more.

He heard nothing.

An hour later he got up. Silence and hunger assured him it wasn't a terrible idea. A piece of fruit, a slice of bread, a cup of tea perhaps. Something to banish the grumble in his belly and draw the blood away from his head. It might work.

He opened the fridge.

Assumpta lifted her head – she'd been there all along, asleep, slumped over the kitchen table.

"Oh." He said. "Sorry."

She rubbed her eyes and stood, unsteady. "No. Excuse me."

"I was hungry is all." He let the fridge fall shut. "The problem with being awake at three in the morning."

She nodded, still holding onto the chair back.

"I thought you'd gone up." Peter said.

"Why face your problems when you can run from them?" She passed him an apple.

"Because you believe in something."

"Oh, so now you know what you believe in?"

He bit into the apple, his hunger raging at the prospect of satisfaction. "I believe in marriage."

"Ah, you're all theory, no practise."

He stopped chewing, swallowed. "Sometimes you make me so-"

She stepped up to him, "Angry?"

He looked her in the eye.

"I'm doing you a favour. If you hate me you can't-" She stopped, realising what she'd been about to say. But he held her gaze, confirming that it was true, even though she hadn't said it.

Was there a state of anger that could eclipse how he loved her? He averted his eyes, giving up the fight. He'd run out of the stuff he needed to play this out, to hope, to believe. He'd have to leave Ballykissangel. And not on retreat.

She lifted her hand to his cheek, turning his face so he'd look at her. His eyes switched, terrified, then that gave way and he leaned into the little touch.

She kissed his lips, but the surprise of it froze them both. The slightest shift of his weight, and he leaned into her, breathing her in, prompting her mouth open. She met him there, hands on his neck, eyes falling shut, intoxicated.

A foot fall on the stairs, closely followed by another, broke through the haze.

Peter pulled back, let go.

Assumpta turned from his fleeing form and had a full two seconds to compose herself before Leo came in. She picked up Peter's bitten apple from the table.

"Sorry, did I wake you? I was hungry."

Leo shook his head. "No, it's fine. Everything okay?"

"I fell asleep in here -" she laughed but it was all nerves. "I'm fine."

He nodded. "I'm going to head off early tomorrow. But I'll be back in time for the evening shift – don't worry."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Well, goodnight." He turned and ascended the stairs.

Assumpta sat against the edge of the table, staring at the bite in the fruit. Then she stood, stepped through to the bar, searching for Peter. But he was gone.

She realised, in that moment, that he _would_ go. He would leave Ballykay. She'd ruined everything, kissing him. But he had kissed her back. Of course he'd kissed her back. She was outside his door before she knew what she was doing. She knocked. No answer. She tried the door, it wasn't locked but it only budged an inch.

"What are you doing?" He asked as the door shifted.

She stepped in and closed it. He was sitting on the floor and leaned back on the door. He looked utterly defeated. What was she doing? "I have no idea." She knelt, hesitated for a beat, a breath, then kissed him again. At that angle her weight pressed all into his lips. He rolled forward onto his knees, to relieve some pressure, but met her body and felt his own come to life. He gasped and she stopped kissing him, looked into his eyes, her own honest and bare.

He couldn't send her away, and if he must leave it would not be before – he scooped her up, hands fast ascending her body, then held her firm, leaning over till she lay beneath him on the rough carpet.

She reached up, kissed him again, terrified that rational thought would intrude. If there was urgency in his posture, there was none for undressing. He ran his hands up into her hair, kissed her neck, ground his body into hers. She pulled her knees out from beneath him and groaned as he pressed against her again.

She didn't want it like this, like teenagers, fully clothed and playing pretend. Her hands went to his belt and he lifted himself to allow it, bravely looking her in the eye for a moment before he faltered, pressing his face to her breast. He unbuttoned her shirt and pressed the swell to his lips as she freed him. His breath staggered, hot against her flesh.

She reached up under his shirt then, hands splayed across his back, pulled him down. He kissed her again, fumbling for her clothing. He caught the expression of ecstasy on her face as his fingertips reached her thighs. He lifted her skirt to see her then looked up to meet her gaze, a final permission before he removed the last obstacle and pressed in.

Every sense thrilled. He moved without will or reason, obeying her every prompt, kissing her to keep from moaning with each beat. She rolled beneath him, her hands fierce on his hips. She groaned, pressed her face into his still-clothed shoulder, bit her lip and then felt him quake. Quickly, she claimed his mouth, swallowing his cries, and then her own, as her body opened and pulsed.

He lay his head on her chest and stayed right there, still inside her, only moving to unbutton the rest of her shirt. His hands on her, he lifted himself and kissed her again. She slipped her arms around him, their drunken kiss so leisurely it seemed to belong to some other time or place.

Weary of crushing her, he rolled to the side. Looking down at their barely-disrobed bodies he traced her form as if committing her to memory.

"What are we doing?" She said, watching his face, marvelling at how he adored her.

He nuzzled into her neck, exhaled a warm breath against her clavicle that sent shivers through her. "Making love." He said.

She swallowed the threat of tears and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Would you ever have-" She slipped her hand under and around his side, finding the words too heavy.

He nodded. "I will."

"What?"

"I can't be sorry for this. And if I can't be sorry, I can't be forgiven. I can't make it right, but I can't be a priest."

"Peter-"

"I wish you'd said – before I left – that you were on the cusp of something like this."

"I wasn't – till you left. I tried everything else."

He pushed her hair back from her cheek. "Now we've really tried everything."

"I don't think it's going to work, this particular experiment."

"No. Quite the opposite in fact."

She nodded and hugged him tight.

They eventually got up off the floor. Assumpta looked at his bed but left, returning to her own. And Leo, asleep. But he was gone when she woke up. So was Peter, an envelope on the kitchen table containing keys and settling the bill, without so much as a note.

She made a very strong coffee and tried to ignore all the many new things she had to worry about: pregnancy, adultery, the end of Peter's career, the end of her marriage, breaking Leo's heart, breaking her own heart. And Peter's heart, doomed no matter how this played out, whether it broke for her or his vocation, his faith, his God.

She found some comfort in the regular, menial tasks of every-day. Customers came and went. Father Clifford was mentioned once or twice, in passing, but the man himself never showed. Leo was back later than he'd said and apologised, told her he'd manage by himself, to make it up to her.

The guilt almost made her resist him, but she was glad to get out of there, the scene of the crime, or very near it. She walked and walked. The church wasn't open. The lights weren't on above the red door. She didn't see Peter.

She walked until her legs quivered and then returned home, slept to make up for the previous night, and started all over again the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter stayed away. Of course. It was wise, no doubt. A little distance might garner perspective and that could be helpful if she, or he, were on the brink of making the kind of decision they might be...

Putting a good face on things with Leo took a fair amount of energy. And then everyone seemed to be bursting with big news. Brendan was up for a job in Dublin, but that was nothing to Siobhan, pregnant! Which of course had Assumpta reeling at the possibility for herself.

Siobhan left and Assumpta sat still for all of thirty seconds, but that was enough time to realise, without a doubt, how Peter would react to such news. He'd want to marry her, to do the right thing, as if that were possible now. But Assumpta was already married. She heard Peter speaking, out in the bar, and she quickly found something to do in the kitchen.

He'd been brave enough to come in. He wanted to get it over with, this first meeting, and fair enough. She summoned her courage and went out just in time to see the back of him. The disappointment was crushing.

"You alright, 'Sumpta?" Leo scooted around her to the cash register.

"Yeah." She went back to work. He didn't return. But Siobhan did.

"This friend of yours, does she have a family now?" Siobhan asked after the friend who'd terminated a pregnancy at eighteen.

"She has. Like all my other friends from college. Like Niamh."

"Sure, you're off down that road yourself now."

Assumpta looked over at Leo, laughing with Brendan and Padraig. He was doing well fitting in here, she couldn't fault him there.

"Look, I need to get my head straight about all this. Am I too old, do you know? What sort of a life will this baby have?"

"I'm not sure what road I'm going down, Siobhan." The truth slipped out. All these days of keeping the turmoil under wraps, and here she was, Siobhan's confidant. It was too easy.

"Aren't ya?"

Time to change the subject, and fast. "Who's the father?"

"Brendan."

"Brendan!"

The man himself turned. "Yeah?"

"Ah," think fast, "would you like another pint o' stout?"

He was easily distracted, that one.

All this playing happy barmaid was exhausting, leaving the clean-up till morning, inevitable. And Leo had the gall to say it all wasn't as glamourous as he'd imagined.

"It was glamour you were after, was it?" She snapped, the fled. Padraig arrived, thankfully, or Leo would've wanted an explanation. She was overreacting, or so he thought. But he had no idea. She almost wished he'd caught them – not in the act, no, but somehow. She would have to tell him, sooner or later, and she wished it was over with.

She wished it was over. Their marriage was a sham and it was cruel to pretend any longer. Leo had no idea.

* * *

Meanwhile, Peter had a home again, but it wasn't quite his own. Quigley was living there, in theory. In practise, all his worldly possessions were living there and an angry tenant had put a sprinkler through the mail slot, flooding Peter's living room.

He was almost glad of the distraction, but once everything was hung out to dry he had only to wait. Waiting was what he'd been doing all week. Waiting for the bright idea, the certain direction. He had put off speaking to Father Mac, not because he didn't know what to do, but because he didn't know what to say. Father Mac was more distracted than usual and noticed nothing amiss.

Until Peter said something, nothing would happen. He was not yet ready for the world to shift, as it must. Again. He had barely got his home back and he'd have to leave it again. Leave and go where? He had no idea.

Brendan was off to Dublin, it seemed. Peter told him he'd miss him and realised he'd miss everyone. He hated the thought of leaving ballykay. But staying he'd have no job, no home, and no more chance of anything with Assumpta than he did now.

"No one is irreplaceable." Brendan said.

Peter didn't buy it for a second, and told him so. Brendan left and in came Siobhan – pregnant. Peter congratulated her, encouraged her, and then went to make tea. Standing over the kettle he reeled, how had he not thought of it till now? Assumpta might be- no surely she'd be on some sort of contraceptive pill. She and Leo were hardly likely to be hoping for kids already. And without religious reasons otherwise she wouldn't be – but she might. He really did not know. He needed to speak to her. He needed to find the courage to return to the bar and face Assumpta.

* * *

Leo took it one joke too far. "The fella with the big sack's in again. Wants to know if he can put you down for a couple of nice salmon."

Ambrose laughed. Assumpta didn't.

"You think this place is a joke, don't you? Ballykissangel just like a hundred other little towns, oh so amusing for sophisticated cosmopolitans like yourself."

"That's not true." He bowed his head, contrite, and the guilt near buried her.

Ambrose scarpered, but first begged a babysitter. Assumpta shook her head at the sandwiches, then the next moment wondered if it weren't a terrible idea, getting out of Leo's way while she figured out how to word the ugly truth. But Ambrose was gone.

Leo shut the door. "I was joking, Assumpta."

"Yeah, you're always joking." She put down the knife but stayed where she was, keeping the table between them. She was about to accuse him of living his life one-step removed but she ran out of steam.

He stepped around the table, put his hand to her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

"Didn't realise what?"

"That it bothered you so much, my not yet being quite completely at home here. But I will be, eventually."

She cocked her head to one side. "It's not that." She couldn't bear his touch and stepped away under the guise of putting the bread away.

"Then what?"

"I don't, Leo. Maybe you can't go back to things." This was hardly the confession she'd meant it to be, but this was a lot easier to voice. "Maybe we had our chance the first time and didn't take it and now it's gone."

He looked like he'd been hit, stepping back like that. Good thing she hadn't gone with plan A or he'd be out on the floor. But he pulled himself together enough to speak. "I don't think I've ever thought second time or first time. I've only ever thought you and me." He stepped toward her again. "I've always loved you Assumpta."

She looked at him, then faltered.

"You did once." He was daring her to tell him that she did now.

She couldn't pull it off. "I did."

"Right." He turned away.

This was the moment. He deserved the whole truth. She began, working up to it, "I thought it would just-" She had thought some kind of magic spell might be cast by the permanence of marriage but it was seeming a lot less permanent these days.

"You thought it would what?" He challenged her and his look made her realise – he already knew. Maybe not the intimate details, but he knew she loved another.

He even knew who.

When she didn't answer his eyes flared. "Damn it, Assumpta. You showed up on my doorstep! I never asked. I never- You never meant a word of it."

"I wanted to."

"Ah, well then." He was shaking, but he was smart enough to walk away. He was packed and gone before the evening crowd came in. She wanted to tell him the rest, the length and breadth of her betrayal, but it was hardly the time. That_ time_ might never exist. She was half-surprised he hadn't asked, hadn't demanded to know if anything had happened. Perhaps he didn't want to know. Ignorance was far from bliss but an awful lot better than the other.

Later, others asked after Leo and she gave the same line.

"Just when we start getting used to him." Padraig laughed and then in came Peter and Nancy. Padraig invited them to sit with him. Peter asked Nancy what she'd like to drink and then came straight at Assumpta, ready to order.

He looked her in the eye, terrified for a moment, then smiled bravely. He wasn't pretending, not to her. He held her gaze and it transported her back to the floor in the room upstairs. He'd said he couldn't regret it. Only now did she believe him.

"Long time no see." She said, for something to say.

"I've been busy. Plus, I've got all of Brian Quigley's worldly goods," he shook his head, half laughing at the ridiculousness of _that _situation. Their situation, on the other hand, he was somehow managing to put aside.

"It's my round, Father." Siobhan stepped up. "I'll get those."

"Oh, that's a pint of lager and a brandy. Thanks, Siobhan."

Assumpta poured but she heard his every word as he congratulated Siobhan on her decision to have the baby.

"Tell that to your congregation."

"I will." He said.

"You might at that." She replied.

Peter laughed. Assumpta looked up and caught his eye. He stopped laughing and gave her a barely perceptible nod. He understood. They might be in a similar situation – similar but, oh, plenty more complicated. She turned back to pouring his lager, put it on the bar and then started on the other drinks. He'd moved down to join the crowd by the time she delivered the last of the drinks.

He didn't ask where Leo was. No one seemed inclined to now, and so there was no way to tell him that Leo was working, even though it wasn't true. He left after a second pint and long before anyone else.


	5. Chapter 5

Assumpta didn't delay cleaning up that night. Dishes were an excellent way to kill an hour or so. Sleep was never going to come easy. That was why she was taking a walk after midnight. That's what she told herself.

But there was a light on in Peter's house.

Perhaps Brian was back. Probably not, but the risk seemed foolish. She shook her head in disbelief at her own stupidity, even while she knocked on the red door. It was the big red button she couldn't help but push.

Peter opened the door. "Assumpta, what are you- ah?" He looked panicked and looked past her.

"It's alright. There's no one watching." She pushed past him and went inside.

She turned, once inside and watched him sigh before closing the door. He didn't face her.

"Leo's gone." She said to his back and saw him stiffen.

"Is he?"

"I thought it best you didn't hear it somewhere else."

She watched the muscles in his back shift, muscles she'd felt move beneath her hands. She hauled her mind back to the present. "He figured it out."

Peter turned. "He just left?"

"Pretty much."

"He didn't come for me."

"Well he didn't figure it all out."

"Ah. What did he figure out?"

"Does it really matter?"

He just looked at her. It mattered to him.

She looked away.

"Why did you marry him?"

"Don't ask me that."

"You already told me the answer."

"Did I?"

"Didn't you? You wanted a boundary between us, a definite line."

"Yeah."

"What were you thinking?"

She felt like she'd been punched and bowed her head to hide her face.

He took a deep breath, reigning in his anger. "Is it possible that you – that we – are pregnant?"

She looked him in the eye, nodded once.

"Right." He walked out of the room and for a moment she thought he'd leave, but then she heard water running. He was making tea. Trust the English.

She wanted to sit down. She was exhausted. Peter returned before she decided one way or the other.

"So Leo doesn't know." He said.

"Leo knows," she wavered, looking him in the eye, "how I feel. Not how I," it hardly needed spelling out, "acted."

"And how's that?" She didn't understand what he was asking and he took pity. "How do you feel?"

"About you?"

He waited, eyebrows raised.

"Stuck." She knew that if she just put it into words, told him she loved him, he'd probably cross the room, close the void between them, and she'd forget the world for one more night. But neither of them could afford a night of oblivion. Reality must be faced. "Nothing's going to change."

"Everything is going to change."

"Is it?"

He nodded.

"Why now? Why not six months ago?"

"Why anything?" He stepped toward her. "Why did I-?" He chewed his bottom lip.

"Why did I?" She offered.

The kettle sang out and after a moment's hesitation he went to the kitchen.

She followed. "What are you going to do?"

"If I knew the answer to that I would have done it by now." He faced the kitchen bench, making her tea without asking how she took it or even if she wanted it.

"You haven't spoken to Father Mac?"

He shook his head.

"Are you sure?"

He turned, held out her cup. "I am."

"Even if Leo hadn't left?"

"It doesn't make any difference."

She put down the cup. Too hot anyway. What did he mean, it made no difference? She didn't have to ask. Incredulity was written all over her face.

"I don't know what's going to happen between the two of you. He might be back in a week. You might go after him tomorrow. You're married!" He shook his head, mouth twitching. "I have no right to know, no right to ask, but please," he was nearly out of breath, "make up your mind."

"I'm not going after him. And he's hardly going to come back, knowing I'm -"

"You're what?"

She huffed, frustrated that he didn't understand. "What do you think?"

"I think," he sighed, "I love you."

She nearly smiled, but for twisting her lips to keep from crying.

He stepped up to her, his hand on her cheek. "I'll have nothing; no home, no job. I've no idea what I'm going to do, except-"

She reached up and kissed him.


	6. Chapter 6

He let the thrill of it take him for a moment, then steeled himself, closing his parched lips against her breath. "This isn't going to help."

"No?"

"Much as I'd like to forget everything, to let this go on, let it make me forget this – this mess."

She nodded, stepped back, leaned on the bench. "So what else can you do at one in the morning?"

"Sleep is popular, though God knows how."

Sleep. A very nice idea, but about as unrealistic as a quick solution to his vocation, her marriage, an entire town full of residents of the dark ages.

"Much as I'd like to." He caught up her hand and held it between both of his, looking at her fingers, barely believing.

"What harm can it do now?"

"Well, other than the obvious," he cocked his head to the side, "if it's not too late already. As if we don't have enough to worry about."

She slipped her free hand around his shoulders and hugged him tight, trapping their hands between them. "I do love you."

He exhaled against her temple, pressing his nose into her hair. "I'll talk to Father Mac tomorrow."

"Whenever you're ready. Promise I won't run off and get married again."

He huffed out something half laugh, half sob.

"If I'd thought there was any chance you would," she loosened her hold on him so she could see his face. "If I'd realised you actually," she shook her head, there was not good way to say it, "I didn't realise."

"That's my fault. I'm not particularly adept at-"

"You have an excuse. You're a priest." She gulped. "You're meant to hide how you feel."

"I'm not meant to need to."

"Yeah, well. You did a pretty good job."

He shook his head. "No I didn't." She was tauntingly close, and she wanted him, and he was so damn tired. If he could hide how he felt ever, at all, it wasn't under these conditions.

She raised her eyebrows, as if to say, so what are you going to do now? Her lips twisted, she let go of him, hands up and open.

He rocked forward to kiss her, then rocked back before making contact. "We can't risk it."

"Too late."

He nodded once, shoved his hands in his pockets, clamped his jaw shut, nodded again. "And it's not as if I'm equipped."

She looked confused for a moment, then realised that Peter, the priest, was standing in front of her half-apologising for not having condoms on hand. She swallowed a laugh, all nerves and an out-of-body experience view on the moment. But it passed and she looked him in the eye, squared with him. "I am." At his surprise and near-concern, she clarified, "Not here, but at home."

He took the tiniest of steps back, away from her. "Leo's stash."

She pushed out her jaw, as if offering up her chin; that's where she was taking it, this she had coming. "My stash."

He blinked, otherwise statuesque.

"Not that we'd want to forget, for a moment, just how ugly the truth is."

"Tell me how to forget."

She let out a shaky breath. She was too tired to keep it together for much longer. She was going to do something foolish. Or she was going to cry. "Tell me it's not ugly."

"Being with you," he shook his head, "is the most beautiful – " he swallowed the rest of the sentence and it didn't go down easy.

She nodded, averting her eyes, trying to find the will to leave. He took her hand and she took a deep breath. "I need to go now, to set the precedent."

"We're going to do this again?" He both hoped for and dreaded a repeat of this exquisite torture.

"Resist temptation, ah, sure, haven't we mastered the art by now?" She wriggled her hand free of his and moved toward the door.

"We make a good show of it." He followed and reached for the door handle, opening the door a smidgen. "Go on."

She reached up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering there against the rough of his jaw, clinging to the warmth and firm reality of him.

As soon as she closed the door of the pub, shutting herself alone in the dark, the enormity of what he was doing closed in on her. He was giving up everything. He'd cited the list as a disclaimer, not asking for her pity, but all his adult life he'd worked for the priesthood. He'd dreamed and planned for that life; he'd made significant sacrifices. If there was any equivalent, it'd be like her giving up Fitzgerald's. It was her home, her childhood, her history and livelihood, what she poured her hours and energy into as if it might sustain her. She always came back. This was her refuge and her anchor, for better or worse.

But Fitzgerald's wasn't in danger. If they could ride out the storm then it might become Peter's home. She might be his refuge. She shook her head, mounting the stairs two at a time. That future was too far out of reach to consider; it was too premature. She hovered just inside her open bedroom door, dropping her clothes, staring into the nothingness where Leo's things used to be.

Backing out, she went downstairs, tried to drink some water but felt too full to contain anything more. The kitchen was the wrong place to be. She had kissed him here. He'd tasted like apple and salt, like some kind of a virgin margarita.

Following her path of that night she stopped at the guest room door. If she'd stopped that night then Leo might still be here, Peter might still be intending to stay a priest. Even the thought made her feel panicked, trapped.

Leo was gone. Peter would be free, one day, probably. She was alone again, but perhaps not for long, not forever. She opened the door, shaking her head at her nerves. She'd been in this room since that night. She'd changed the sheets – sheets she'd never touched. She couldn't change the carpet.

She stood on the spot where they'd - perhaps the spot where he'd lost his virginity. She didn't even know. She looked at the bed, and longed to lay down just there.

Not that there was any reason not to. She was completely alone in the house. Sleeping here wasn't a sin. That ship had sailed. And there was no one to wonder at her strange behaviour.

She pulled back the heavy covers and slipped between the cold sheets.


	7. Chapter 7

It was light before the sun rose, light enough to pretend it was morning. Peter didn't look at the clock, he didn't want to know. But there were no newspapers outside Kathleen's very closed shop, so it was probably too early for breakfast.

No one was about. He looked up at Fitzgerald's. Perhaps he imagined Assumpta's curtain flutter. He marched up to St Joseph's but couldn't bring himself to go in. The river offered more fitting solace at this moment. He walked the length of the town on the rocks and then back along the road.

She wanted him. The thought came back time and time again. There was plenty to consider and much of it terrifying but then there was Assumpta wanting him, after everything. He knocked softly on her back door, not really expecting an answer. As he tried the handle she opened it.

"Oh!" She clearly hadn't expected him.

"Sorry, I - " he stuttered then resolved on which thing to say. "I couldn't sleep."

"No. I've never been up so early without a flight to catch. Tea?"

He followed her in. "What's weird is that I had no problem sleeping the night after we, well, after."

"That's not so strange." She pulled out a chair for him and he took it.

"No, I suppose not."

Her cup was half empty and it probably hadn't been her first because she emptied the teapot into a new cup for Peter. There was barely enough to fill it. He was glad of the warmth against his fingers and his lips. "Is this really happening?" He asked finishing his not-so-hot cup.

"It better be." She met his eyes. "I keep forgetting, and then remembering."

He nodded. "Remembering."

She took his hand. That was all the encouragement he needed and pulled her in, kissed her hard, raw and honest. When they broke for breath he slid off his chair and knelt on the floor between her knees, arms fast around her, his face to her stomach. She gasped at the rush of sensation and the sound inspired him. He pulled her forward and ran his hands down her back. Feeling over-bold, he hesitated.

"Peter," She said, all breath, then pressed her hands into his hair. "We have to be careful."

"I will be." He skimmed his hands over her hips and beneath her thighs, where they reached out from the chair.

"That's not what I - " she groaned. The sensation of his cool hands on her legs put all thought of consequences and interruptions from her mind. There was only warmth, frission, this incredible, longed-for connection. His hands on her came as enough of a surprise to bring her out of the fog, for a moment, but before she'd a chance to speak, even to think of how to say this was reckless, the pressure of his tongue replaced his hands. She gripped the table with one hand, Peter's hair with the other. His fingers were warm now, firm on her thighs, and the pressure and pulse between, divine. She arched, opened, moaned, more than the reassurance he needed to continue. She'd been aching for release before he began and lifted to meet his touch, soon insensible to the scrape of her chair against the floor. He caught her up and held the chair in place as she came, the throb against his tongue enough to silence any complaint in his arms.

He eased her into the chair but didn't let go. Eyes heavy, breath heavier, then slipped down onto his lap, put her arms around his shoulders and hid her face in his neck, marvelling.

"I love you." He said. "So, so much."

She almost laughed. "You don't say."

He squeezed her tight and then loosed his hold at the feel of her hip against his arousal. He didn't particularly want the favour returned, not right now, not only because it wasn't a favour to begin with.

"How did you – I mean - " she began, feeling she'd worked herself into an awkward corner, "I thought, maybe, that the other night could have been the first, but clearly not." She didn't know if she hoped more that he did understand, or that he didn't.

"It was." He'd have said more, perhaps, if she hadn't been looking right into his eyes.

"Then, how?" She managed.

"I was teenager once."

"I don't remember teenagers knowing how to do that."

"Well, not that exactly."

She took a deep breath, digesting the information still – she had been his first. His only.

"It's been a long time though." He said.

"You've a good memory. I'm still shaking."

"You are. Is that a good thing."

She smiled, kissed him. The utter satisfaction of moments before had passed. She shifted to be closer and he groaned. She put one knee between his, hooked the other over his hip and then remembered where they were.

"It could be a while," he said, breath shaky, "till we don't have to hide, and pretend."

She nodded against his ear, pressing her nose into his hair. "Except between us. We needn't pretend now."

He moaned agreement.

She leaned back, looking into his eyes. "Come up?" She might have imagined his nod, but when she stood he did too, if a little painfully. She faced him, desperate for him to be sure. This wasn't quite the same heat of the moment as that night in the guest room, though there was heat enough. He raised his hand to her collar, his thumb outlining the bone as if it were a priceless treasure, fragile and sacred. "I need you." He spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm utterly yours."

She took his hand and kept him by her side as they climbed the stairs.

He looked around her room, from his position near the door, while she cleared a few things away. She finished and faced him. He stepped across to her, put a hand to her cheek, and kissed her, demanding nothing, offering everything.

"You're sure." She flattened her hands on the sides of his body, forcing herself to go slowly, moving up. She was the more experienced, sure, but it was a limited experience and this would surely be overwhelming no matter what had come before. Her breast kissed against his chest, three or four layers of fabric besides; she felt full to bursting, every nerve alight.

"I want to do this right." He kissed her forehead, her eyelid, "No hurry. No fear." He kissed her mouth and anything else he'd meant to say was forgotten. She reached up, stretching out against him. He pressed into her and then pulled back. "Though the no-hurry bit might be, ah -"

"You've nothing to prove." She unbuttoned his collar, scooping her fingers beneath. "I am also," another button, "yours." She pressed a kiss to the triangle of his chest, then stayed there, his fingers in her hair a perfect pressure on her scalp.

They undressed slowly, denying urgency until no obstacle remained, but then he felt the soft plane of her stomach on him and she felt his thigh against hers, her breasts brushing his chest, it was all too much. She lay down, reaching across to the night stand, and the distance between them was more than he could bear. He ran his hand up from her ankle, kneeling beside her.

She lay back, hands shaking, and sheathed him. He watched her face, rather than her hands, struggling for control, and as soon as she let go of him he kissed her, keeping himself aloft for a few more seconds.

She wrapped her legs around him and groaned low at the first touch. She ran her hands up from his hips to his shoulders, reached to kiss his neck, her open mouth exhaling fast as he entered her.

He moved up, arms surrounding her, and deep, his eyes closed, mouth open. He pulled away but not right out, met her gaze and then pressed in again. It was fully daylight and every bit of it deliberate, so utterly different from the last time, and yet the exact same sense of discovery, of finally belonging, of coming home.

Her heel on his back, the other foot on his leg, pulled him in again and he felt the rush of anticipation. She arched, loosing her grip on his shoulders. Her arms fell back and she gasped, moving impossibly beneath him, lifting in shudders.

Tension spun and effervesced in his head, down his arms in his calves, and then zeroed in and took hold of him. He lifted her now-relaxed, supple body to meet each stroke, insensible to all the world beyond her soft flesh and the look in her eyes, all hope and joy and, he was beginning to really believe it, love.

As their rhythm slowed he lowered himself to his elbows, planting dozens of kisses on her face till she laughed and pushed at him. He rolled off but she held on and settled above him. Adjusting her knees, she constricted around him and he took a deep breath, letting his head drop back into the pillows. She splayed her hands across his chest as if measuring him in hands-breadths. When she sighed he raised his eyebrows in question.

"I have to open the pub in an hour and a half."

He nodded, ran his hand up her side and thumbed the side of her breast. "Don't let me fall asleep."

"Why not?"

"I'm expected in Cilldargen at two."

"Plenty of time for a kip."

He sat up, shaking his head, arms going around her. "Plenty of time to sleep later."

"Hm." She moaned as he pressed open kisses against her breast. "Make the most."

He rested his forehead between her breasts and let out a sigh. "Any plans for breakfast tomorrow?"

"I've not yet had breakfast today."

He looked up at her, "Well, then."

"You want to make breakfast?"

"Wouldn't that be the gentlemanly thing?"

"You didn't stay over."

"See? I've amends to make." He lifted her just high enough and moved out from beneath her, turning away. And fair enough, she gulped, realising this was yet another first for him. Turning back he kissed her. "Won't be long."

She resisted the urge to put a t-shirt on. It was all very well to pretend they might make a daily habit of this but she couldn't rest easy assured of a happy ending, or even a happy week, yet. They'd make the absolute most of this precious morning. No holding back.

But Peter had donned a towel, she saw on his return, tray in hands. "Hope toast is okay."

"So long as it's delivered to my bed, I'm not picky."

"That right?" He set the tray down and sat on the bed carefully.

"Well, by you at least. Any randy tourists can save their best offers till there's a bar between."

"I don't doubt you 'Sumpta."

"I wouldn't blame you. I've no sparkling record."

"I'm not sure you're entirely to blame."

She sighed, taking the proffered coffee. "So, what now?"

"We do what has to be done." He put down his toast, unbitten. "When we figure out what that is."

"And until then?" She met his gaze, an adoration that seemed to dwarf every oncoming obstacle. "This is never going to stay a secret."

"No. It might help if I say away for a whi- "

"Don't." The word slipped from her lips with all the dread she felt at the prospect. "You've a job here if you want it, and a roof over your head if you can't get it elsewhere."

"Assumpta -"

"I'm serious, Peter. If we're doing this – and we appear to be doing," she smirked, "it."

"So, we dive in."

"The only way." She took a bite of toast, licked melted butter from her lips, gently amused at the hungry reaction in his eyes.

"I suppose that's why we put this off for so long. Most couples have something of a trial period."

She cocked her head to the side. "There's just no dating a priest. Or that's the idea."

They ate in silence a while. He broke it, saying, "I knew a priest who was laicized."

"Yeah?"

"I should look him up."

"He fell in love?"

"He married her before his release came through."

Assumpta's eyebrows went up at that. "Pregnant?"

He shook his head. "No, just knew what he wanted."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "You want that – to get married?"

He met her gaze and eventually, simply, said, "Yes."

Her lips twitched to smile and he grinned, reaching across the tray to kiss her. They almost toppled the coffee so he sat back again.

She poked at crumbs on plate, licking them off her finger. "Doing it in a church isn't going to be an option anyway, but I suspect my thing might take longer than yours."

"Your thing." He said, swallowing a sigh."

"I've no idea what Leo's going to do, and the only lawyer I know did Ma and Dad's will."

He often forgot she'd lost both her parents so young, that she'd taken on the family business straight out of varsity. She was strong, resourceful, had courage in spades. And she loved him. They would get through this.

He moved the tray aside and then took her coffee cup from her.

"I wasn't finished with -"

In fact, she was.


	8. Chapter 8

She collapsed on top of him and he let his hands drop from her hips with a satisfied moan. "I can't believe I gave this up."

Her laugh was breathy as she rolled off him. "Well, I'm not sure this exactly _is_ what you gave up."

He rolled to face her, eyes a question.

"I mean, I took no such vow, but nevertheless."

"Nevertheless what?" He dreaded her answer. he hated to think she'd been in this posture with another.

She sighed, regretting taking their conversation here. "It's not always like this." She said.

Understanding dawned on his features, coupled with relief. "That's gratifying."

She flicked his chest. "I don't mean – ah, forget it. I should take a shower."

He tightened his lazy grip on her hips. She gave up her half-hearted tug and closed her eyes.

"Is this it?" She said, fear making her dizzy. Getting up seemed foolish, dangerous, impossible.

"What do you mean?"

"You won't let me go because you've no idea how long, or if we'll ever again."

"I've no idea of the first but I'll be damned if the second. Assumpta," he rolled half on top of her, eyes just inches from hers when she opened them. "I'll let you go now, but I'll never let you go."

He got up on hands and knees, finally breaking all contact between their bodies, then sat back on his heels. She couldn't quite fight a smile, at the view of him kneeling naked on her bed, it was too strange and unlikely an image. Sitting up, she tore her eyes away, waited for the light-headedness to pass. "We're mad. This is mad."

"It's not going to be easy, no."

"If we can agree on any two things together it's a wonder. If we come out the other side of this and can bear to be in the same room it'll be miracle."

"Well, by then, I'll probably have memorised the number for the Vatican, so, you know, for miracles, we can make the necessary calls."

She laughed and turned to find him half dressed and scratching his head.

"Where's my other shoe?"

"You kicked it off – there." She pointed and stood up. "You don't want a shower?"

"I'd better disappear for a bit. Wouldn't want to rouse suspicion."

"Good luck."

"I'll be using up all my luck just leaving here half-decent, knowing you're up here, looking like that. I don't know how I'm going to keep from giving it all away."

"Well, you'd better. I know a boycott of Fitzgerald's is unlikely, but not impossible." She rummaged for fresh clothes and dropped them on her bed, then shut one dresser drawer only to open another.

His eyes strayed to the tangles of underwear she was searching through. He huffed out a breath, his lips a tight circle.

"What?" She found what she wanted and turned to him, oblivious.

"It's going to be difficult, that's all. More so now that I know just which shade of -" he shook his head. "I'm in trouble."

She dropped the underwear on top of her tshirt and jeans, stepping across the room to him. "It's going to be fine." She put one hand to his cheek, then swallowed, clearly far from assured herself. "It's going to be – I don't even know, but it's going to be fine."

He nodded, kissed her properly and, full of fragile confidence, left. He checked himself carefully in the mirror downstairs, rolled up his sleeves so it might look like he'd been helping with some heavy lifting. He shook his head at his all-too-chuffed reflection, and remembered just exactly what he'd been lifting. If they were going to do this again it would be less conspicuous for him to wait until after the pub opened. She could give him a signal when there was no one about, he could take his place at the bar with a coffee until someone came in and witnessed his innocence.

If they were going to do this again. It seemed inevitable and impossible at once.

He should stop at Kathleen's for some food, if he was planning to avoid Fitzgerald's all day. He lifted the collar of his shirt and sniffed – no, he definitely needed to go home first. Clean clothes were essential even if he couldn't bring himself to wash off the rest – no, he must. Exactly how much he would tell Father Mac, he wasn't yet sure, but he'd rather make the decision than have his mere presence give the game away. The look on his face would probably do it and no amount of hot water could wash that off.

Schooling his expression he walked out the front door of Fitzgerald's, making sure it latched behind him.

"No rest for the wicked, eh Father?" Liam said from his perch on the bench beside Donal.

"She open early today?" Donal asked, his mind on the not quite straight and narrow of a beer glass.

"No, just needed a hand with something." Peter said, hoping specifics wouldn't be required.

"You'll get your wages later, eh Father?" Liam smirked.

Peter got away after that, and seemed to have got away with it entirely.

* * *

"So that's it?" Father Mac raised his eyebrows. "Decision made. I assume you've thought – and prayed – long and hard about this."

"Of course."

"You're awfully resolved. Has something happened?"

"Of course something has happened. I've decided to leave the priesthood."

"Yes, yes, and such a decision doesn't come out of nowhere. I won't force your confidence, Father Clifford, but you really must consider."

"You want me to stay?"

"I don't want you to regret what you cannot reverse."

"What makes you so sure I can reverse it now?"

"So something has happened?"

"Yes." Peter had no intention of elaborating.

Father MacAnally considered the man in front of him long and hard then gave one stern nod. "Do you know what you're getting into?"

Peter sighed. "How could I possibly know what will happen? But we'll get through – I'll get through it. The decision is made."

"Yes, I see that. Well, I won't be much use to you. Your predecessor took a rather different path."

"He did?"

"He moved away and I'm going to guess you've no intention of conveniently disappearing."

"I want to stay in Ballykay, but I don't mean to make trouble. In fact, if there's anything I can do to make the transition easier on everyone-"

"Conveniently disappearing is the trick there, I'm afraid. Short of that, well, there's only so many ways we can play a married woman and a catholic priest."

Peter flinched.

"What? Did you prefer I put it another way? I guarantee you're going to get worse than that, and she's going to bear the brunt."

"Why?" Peter hadn't considered that.

Father Mac didn't even bother to answer _why_. "On top of which, the locals are more likely sober when they're giving you what-for, and you haven't a business anyone can make a point of avoiding. A pub in Ireland would ride out just about anything, but this?" He stood and shook his head, walking toward the door. "What are you going to do?"

"I hadn't, well, I'm not certain exactly."

Father Mac opened the door and cocked his head to the side, clearly guessing Peter would be behind bar in the meantime. "One more sunday or two?"

Peter gaped.

"Well, what did you expect?"

"Ah, one is fine. Yes, one is probably best."

"Right. Well, I have phone calls to make."

* * *

It was a long evening and Assumpta was wiped out. She had no difficulty falling asleep but come the crack of dawn and she was standing over a pot of tea wondering if she'd get to share it with the local curate, assuming he still was the local curate.

There was no sign of him. The longest morning in the history of mornings stretched into a very long day and she all but burst into a grin when he ducked in through the accommodation entrance well after nine that night.

"You're in late." Brendan put his empty on the bar. "But just in time."

Padraig sculled the last of his drink and added his glass to the to-do list.

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Sorry guys, I can't afford it."

Brendan tsked. "That what you've been doing all week, hiding from the hunters and gatherers and creditors?"

"Something like that."

"What can I get you?" Assumpta finally managed, wrenching her eyes from the open collar of his black shirt.

"Just a half."

She poured him a pint.

"That's a generous half." Siobhan raised an eyebrow.

"It's alright." Peter smiled, "I can stretch for it."

"Wasn't a mistake." She pushed his coins back across the bar. "It's on the house."

Wide eyes and silence answered that.

"I could make a good charity case if I'd known there was any chance of -" Padraig shook his head. "Who'd have guessed?"

"Careful or my prices will go up."

Peter took his drink and bit back a grin, nodding his thanks to the lady of the house. For all her charity she was hardly raking it in. No convenient crowd allowed them a moment alone, and their few companions were far too observant, and not nearly plastered enough, to overlook a private tete-a-tete in the kitchen without question.

Peter left at closing with the rest of them, offering Assumpta a backward glance and a poor excuse for a smile. Perhaps he'd meant it as an apology. Perhaps he was trying to communicate something more, but apparently she'd just have to wait to find out what. And she'd have to wait _awake_, it seemed. Sleep finally found her well into the early hours of the morning.

A cool hand on her arm woke her – and nearly put her through the roof.

"Sorry." Peter hovered half behind her, half above her.

She shook her head and dropped it back into the pillow.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

She pulled his hand around to her stomach. "Then shut up and lie still."

He couldn't resist snuggling in just a little but stopped when she sighed.

She wasn't going back to sleep now. "How did you get in?"

"Back door was unlocked."

"Oh."

"I thought you might have been down there already."

"I must have forgotten to check it last night. I was tired. I shouldn't be careless, I know."

"No, you shouldn't. God knows who might help themselves to the wares."

"I'm the wares now, am I?"

"I was talking about the drinks."

"Course you were."

"But now you've got me worried about you." He spread his fingers wider across her stomach.

She turned to face him. "In Ballykissangel?"

"Anywhere probably." He scooped a strand of her hair off her forehead and lifted it back between finger and thumb till it fell. "I love you."

She pressed her lips together, smile shining through.

He lay back, rolling away from her, resisting temptation, for what it was worth. "We didn't get a chance to talk last night."

"No." She yawned.

"Did you sleep much?"

"Not really."

"What about your theory – that sleep comes more readily after, well - "

"You can say the word you know, I mean if you can do the deed then surely."

"Sex," he smiled, shaking his head, "love, sex, all of that. But no luck eh?"

She shrugged. "I was sleeping when you came in, wasn't I?"

He nodded.

She gritted her teeth and asked the question. "So, what did Father Mac say?"

"This and that. He's not going to stand in our way."

"So you told him?"

"Not everything, but nevertheless."

"He guessed."

"Exactly what, I don't know, but yeah. I'm not sure it came as a great surprise."

"Well if you're hoping to surprise people you might be in luck."

"No kidding. Surprise _would_ be lucky. It might come a bit rougher than that."

She nodded, grimaced. "How _are_ you going to break the news?"

"I'll say something on Sunday and then that's it."

"Just like that?"

"Yep."

"You're going to get up in front of whoever makes it to mass on Sunday and confess your sins?"

He gritted his teeth at that. "I'll announce I'm leaving. I'll say why."

"In so many words?"

"That's what I was trying to figure out all day yesterday."

"What did you come up with?"

"Well, 'I've fallen in love' seems a bit too much like a line from a song, but one way or another that's what I'll say."

She put a hand to his chest and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, keeping her head there, close. "And if there are six deaf old men and Kathleen Hendley to hear it?"

"The news will still make it to Cilldargen by tea time."

She propped herself up on her elbow. "But wouldn't you rather tell your friends yourself?"

"You think it'll make a difference?"

"Absolutely."

He sighed. "I'm a coward."

"Y'are not. If this whole thing isn't brave to the point of stupidity then I don't know what it is." She thumbed his forehead, as if she could magic the worry lines away. "Buy them a round on saturday night. I'll pitch in, but keep it quiet or they'll all guess it's me."

"I wouldn't wager much on anyone guessing it's anyone else."

"Yeah, well, I'll try not to confirm it, you know, in the next ten days or so."

He smiled, tongue pressed to his front teeth in consternation. "Saturday night at the pub, you think that'll be easier than sunday morning at church?"

"I'm not saying you should explain everything, or anything at all, but maybe just enough to make sure they all show up at church."

"Right," he nodded, "fair enough." She was awfully close and he still hadn't kissed her since coming in. Surely all the vital conversation had been had. He sat up just enough to reach her lips. "Good morning."

She laughed and shook her head, then lay back beside him. "Are we going to make a regular thing of this?"

"Maybe not this exactly."

She elbowed him in the ribs.

He laughed, realising the implication he hadn't intended – that lying in her bed side-by-side but barely touching and fully clothed wasn't what he'd be sneaking in for. "No, I meant we probably shouldn't keep on like this. Once the news is out people will watch like hawks for any little slip up."

"I hadn't thought of that." She rubbed her face.

"You sure this is what you want?" He watched her, weary.

She pulled her hand away and looked him in the eye, a slight smile the closest she would come to assuring him. "It's so strange having you here, but easy – easy like I'd never have guessed."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "I just wish it didn't have to be so difficult. I mean, this is Ireland. We're talking four years."

"No chance of an annulment?"

"I wouldn't bank on it."

"No." He turned his gaze to the bunched-up sleeve of her tshirt. He slipped his fingers beneath, up as far as he could reach, then slowly, indulgently, down to her wrist. Letting his hand drop to her waist, he pulled her close and she put her arms around him, ready and willing to take the assurance, the comfort he offered, and to give him what she could in return.


	9. Chapter 9

She slept in on Saturday morning. Any time she stirred and found Peter absent she burrowed back into the covers and hoped he'd be there when she woke. And then it came to the point where she couldn't put it off any longer. Nature called and she barely had time for a shower before the pub opened. It was probably a good thing Peter hadn't shown up because nature was calling in more ways than one and there was not a single pain-killer to be found in the whole house.

She put one foot in front of the other and drank more coffee than was good for her, and around two o'clock he came in for a sandwich. Assumpta went into the kitchen and he followed just in time to catch her rubbing her stomach.

"Are you alright?"

"What? Oh, I'm fine." She slapped two slices of bread on the board.

"No you're not. I can do that."

She pulled the ham from the fridge and he'd already taken over so she handed it to him. "It's nothing to worry about; I'm just out of paracetamol. It's really not very bad. I had friends at school who'd be in bed for two days every month." She saw the spark of understanding on his face and bit back a smile. "Cheese?"

"Ah, thanks. Are you sure you're right to work?"

"I'm always right to work."

He sliced the sandwich in two and picked up a half, turning to her with utter disbelief written all over his face.

"I thought we were trying to keep things under wraps."

"We are."

"You're eating your lunch in the privacy of my kitchen."

"See why I wonder how no one's cottoned on?"

She shook her head and put the food back in the fridge. He took his sandwich to the bar, but didn't stay long. It was easier to stay away than to pretend. For now.

* * *

Peter showed up again after eight and went straight through to the kitchen. She gritted her teeth and finished an order before joining him. So much for subtle!

"What are you doing?"

"Smuggling you the hard stuff."

"What?"

He popped two pills from the foil and handed them to her.

She gave him a nod of thanks, shut the door to the bar and took the pills.

"You feeling any better?" He said.

"They don't work quite that fast." She saw his look of concern and shook her head. "I'm fine. So, you going to say something tonight?"

He nodded his head. "Want to give me a kiss for luck?"

She laughed but put her water down and stepped up on her toes. Close, really close, she took a deep breath, exhaling on his chin. "Break a leg."

He touched his lips to hers and she leaned in for a second kiss, as firm as the stamp of a seal.

"Go on. You first." She sent him off to face the masses but he didn't say a word till she returned to her post behind the bar.

"Ah, sorry, can I have everyone's attention, please." He began.

She rolled her eyes at the in-built apology but anyone who saw took it for her usual reticence.

"I have something of an announcement, well, I suppose the announcement will be tomorrow, but just to be sure you all hear – the thing is," he took a deep breath, catching Brendan's eye, then looking away went on, "The thing is, tomorrow will be my last sunday up the front at Saint Joseph's."

He was stopped by a cacophony of gasps and questions and expressions. He didn't have to wait long till they hushed, waiting on his every word.

"I don't want to explain now and then do it again tomorrow, and I think it'd be better tomorrow, but I will say now: I won't be leaving Ballykissangel. I just won't be the curate anymore."

More questions came, regardless.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. "Tomorrow. I'll even come to the pub after mass, and you can give me the proper inquisition."

"They can not." Assumpta chimed in.

He smiled at that but didn't look at her. "So, ah, I'll see you all in the morning."

* * *

And he did. He saw them _all_ in the morning.

"In the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit." He began, and as the congregation said, "Amen," he saw Assumpta duck in the back. With a deep breath, he went on. "The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God...

Assumpta stood up and sat down, just like everyone else but didn't say a word the whole time. So this was what it took to get her to church, then. The thought nearly made her laugh, more than once, but then again she'd always had trouble not giggling in church.

The fight against the giggles was won as soon as Peter began his homily. He got straight to the point, so hopefully no one had nodded off beforehand. "This will be my last Sunday as your priest. I've come to this decision after many months of consideration and prayer."

She took a deep breath, glad to be sitting alone at the back, with no one watching her reaction.

"I know there will be many questions and I will try my best to answer them. But there are some I cannot answer because I simply do not have all the answers. I _am_ certain that this role is no longer the right place for me." He panicked for a moment as he went on, "I mean in the priesthood. I intend to stay in Ballykissangel."

She tensed up, watching him fumble his words. God, it didn't seem fair. Couldn't he just make a few excuses now and then later tell everyone to mind their own business? No. Peter couldn't do that. Which was a part of the reason she loved him, but damn it.

"I don't know if this means I never should have become a priest, but I don't think it does. It's the vocation which brought me here and it's here," he paused and she held her breath. "It's here that I met the woman who I intend to spend the rest of my life with." He hurried on, "I could offer you any number of other struggles and excuses. Perhaps all priests doubt their vocation, their faith, at one time or other but none of those other reasons are why I'm leaving the church. The truth of it is I love someone, and that's a precious gift. I don't think I ever really knew how precious it was until I found it." He caught Assumpta's gaze for a moment and the whisper of a smile turned his lips. "I am sorry if I cannot answer some of the questions, the philosophical side of it, but I will try to be honest with you all, as you have been with me. I've been honoured to be your priest and I hope you can find it in your hearts to allow me another, a different place in your community." He took a deep, shaky breath. "I know this is not much of a homily. If anyone came here today hoping for a message-"

That got a laugh, if a subdued one.

"If there's one thing I've learned through all this," Peter went on, "It's that with faith, there is a place for doubt; that doubt is not the end of it. For all the questions that I, that we, cannot answer, which perhaps we'll never be able to answer, we can trust that God _is_, that God _loves_. That He _knows_, even if I cannot. I can only – _we_ can only, do our best, and hold on to faith."

Assumpta covered her mouth with her hand, thinking he might be about to cry. God, and so might she.

"To believe is often difficult, which is why we affirm our faith every week." He directed the congregation to turn in their service books to the Nicene creed, and Assumpta stopped worrying that either she or the priest might end up in tears. She even found herself accidentally mumbling along the words which must have lodged themself in her subconscious way back in her childhood. "God from god, light from light." She clamped her lips together and watched Peter. He'd done this every week, this next bit, the mass, every day in fact, for years. She fought the urge to flee. She could sit through it just once, for him.

She found herself wondering just how much of it he really held to. Once upon a time she'd have thought he believed it all, swallowed it whole. After the things he'd just said about doubt, she wasn't so sure. In all the back and forth between the priest and the congregation there were one or two things even she believed, on some level. She wouldn't be up for an academic discussion on the topic but they were there, her almost-beliefs.

The recessional began. Peter started down the aisle, and any moment now everyone would stand and someone would see her. If nothing else at least Peter wouldn't be the only one getting the inquisition this afternoon. She could plead curiosity, like everyone else, of course. But no one stood up, not right away. As soon as Peter passed her she followed him out the door.

Peter turned, shocked to see her right away, but quickly schooled his expression. "Hi." He said.

Others were coming up behind her and she cocked her head toward the pub.

He nodded.

"Well done." She whispered then walked past him and away.


	10. Chapter 10

He went in through the accommodation entrance.

"Who's the lucky lady?" Liam's question nearly backed him into the door.

"Ah," Peter tried to smile, "Can we save that one till I've had a drink, do you think?"

"Assumpta! Pour the man a pint, on me."

She sucked in a breath through her teeth and did just that.

Peter stayed away from the bar but, reluctant to seat himself somewhere and get trapped in twenty questions, he was soon shepherded to Brendan's end of the room.

"So what happens now?" Siobhan started easy.

"Paperwork," Peter sipped his beer, "and patience."

"What'll you do for a living?" Padraig went next.

Peter shrugged, "In the meantime I'm available at a very reasonable rate for just about anything."

"That right." Siobhan sized him up and he nearly choked on his drink, getting a laugh from the lot of them.

"No more confessions though?"

"I hope I can still keep a confidence, but no, it won't be the same."

"We'll miss you." Donal said, solemn and serious.

"But he's not going anywhere."

"Ah, true." Donal grinned, "So who's the lucky lady?"

Brendan went to hit him.

"Now now," Peter shook his head. "I said I'd answer as best I could."

"Well go on then." Niamh's voice cut through the relatively jovial group.

"Niamh, I didn't see you there." Peter said, making room.

"Go on." She looked him in the eye.

He couldn't manage it. This was the only question anyone really wanted to he ask but he just couldn't do it.

"I'll do you one easier." Niamh looked briefly at Assumpta, hiding down the far end of the bar, "How long?"

Peter sighed, "Months. More than a year."

The hurt in her eyes screamed her misunderstanding.

"No – I mean - "

"You've been carrying on for a year!"

"Not carrying on."

Niamh watched him. Ambrose tugged her away.

Peter seemed to deflate.

"People'll come 'round." Brendan said, "Give them time."

Peter nodded, "What about you?"

"I've had time. You think this came as a surprise to _everyone?_"

"No, no. I suspected one or two might have cottoned on."

"But who?" Donal held out his beerless hand.

Liam cupped his hand and spoke into his amigo's ear.

Donal's eyes went wide. "What? Siobhan!"

Brendan fell off his stool. Peter grimaced, Padraig choked and Siobhan laughed. "Don't be too shocked. I might take it the wrong way."

"Well if it's not - " Liam looked around the bar.

"Oh, come on!" Brian tossed back the last of his drink. "Here's one for you – if you know you can be released from the vow even as you take it, can you really mean it in the first place?"

"I did. I meant it."

"You never thought you'd be tempted?"

"I was certain I would be."

"So why not do some other community service, some charitable work, any number of things?"

"There's a difference between resisting temptation and resisting love."

A beat of silence followed, but didn't last.

"Why now?" Siobhan looked into her drink rather than at anyone in particular. "What changed?"

Peter thought for a moment. "I ran out of strength. I considered every alternative. I hit every dead end. Man's thoughts are not God's thoughts, so maybe I'm wrong. Or maybe I was wrong to wait and fight it so long."

His audience waited for more, unsatisfied. And Assumpta was a distant part of that audience, eyes averted but ears tuned in.

"And I realised," Peter went on, "I wasn't the only one missing out. I mean, it's not only my life affected. I was hurting – well."

"But couldn't you have gone away," Niamh spoke up from the table behind them, "let her get on with her life?"

"I could have. I tried to." He sighed, "Perhaps, eventually, things might have changed. I don't know."

Assumpta couldn't take it any more and, wary of making things worse, slipped silently into the kitchen. She shut the door and leaned back on it. The few people who hadn't identified the "lucky lady" would know by tomorrow. And then what? She wasn't subjecting herself, or their relationship if she could manage it, to every nosy villager and their cousin! Peter didn't owe them anything, though he'd probably disagree about that. He certainly didn't owe them this. He was being careful but he wasn't beyond saying something foolish.

At least a few key players seemed to have made themselves scarce, Father Mac and Kathleen Hendley, notably. Both would, no doubt, extract the substance of this inquisition from their customers all week.

The pub was packed out. Assumpta couldn't hide in the kitchen much longer.

Someone knocked at the door. She took a deep breath and prepared her best poker face for the crowd, but Brendan ducked into the kitchen.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

She nodded. "Of course."

"There's no of course about it."

"Brendan-" she warned.

"Yeah, I know, you were hoping to give us all a big shock, but I know you, and I know him, and you need to not throttle anyone right now."

She nearly laughed. "I've managed so far, haven't I?"

"Are you really okay?"

She smiled, swallowed. "I'm more okay than I've been in a long time."

He chuckled. "I can't believe you missed the big send off."

"I didn't. I slipped in the back."

Brendan regarded her a moment and gave an approving nod. "If there's anything I can do."

She exhaled. "You're doing it." She went on, answering the question in his look, "Be his friend. Don't let it change things."

"Done."

She nodded, "Right, back to work."

She stepped through in time to hear Peter say, "I know I've let you down. I didn't plan this. If I'd known, well, I don't know what I'd have done but there's little point to speculating. I tried to fight it. I lost."

She closed her eyes and took a long slow breath, then turned to the people clearly waiting on drinks.

"Assumpta." Niamh pushed Ambrose off. "Can I have a word?"

"I'm a little busy just now."

"They'll wait." Niamh barged through to the kitchen and, as soon as Assumpta followed, hissed, "How could you not say?"

Assumpta, already fit to burst with frustration – no, _fury_, let out a groan, balling fists and barely seeing straight.

"What, this was news to you?"

"No." She said the one word cold. "No, but nothing could be said, to _anyone, _till it was official." Assumpta was seriously close to the edge, but it was possible Niamh might calm down if she could just understand, "And then it had to come from him, don't you see?"

"How could you?"

"What? I didn't set my sights on the Priest. It just happened. It happens!"

"What happens?"

"What do you think?"

"I think your marriage didn't turn out just the way you'd hoped and you don't give a damn about the church or anyone, and the grass is always greener."

"You think I'd do that – to Peter? To Leo? God, what I've done to Leo is bad enough but you think I'd do it for nothing more than a quick -?" She lowered her voice, "You think that little of me?"

Niamh looked her in the eye, waiting for an explanation that would never come.

Assumpta could barely breathe. This was her closest friend. How was the rest of the town going to take it if Niamh could believe such a horror?

"What, so nothing's happened?" Niamh prompted.

Assumpta ran out of steam. She couldn't deny _something_ had certainly happened, but above everything she was so wounded that flight remained her only recourse. She went through to the bar, served three drinks, blinking back tears, then mumbled an excuse and slunk up the stairs.

She didn't even make it to the top. Out of sight, she slumped, pressed a fist to her mouth and let a sob shake her. This hadn't been the plan. Why did he have to be a priest? Why couldn't she feel this way about Leo? Why did she have to go and be so stupid as to _marry_ _Leo_? That was the real gut-churner; that was the bit of all of this she could really shoulder.

Siobhan found her and without a word helped her up to her room.

"Brendan's serving and we'll help if necessary."

"Thanks." Assumpta managed, throat aching. She was starting to calm down.

Siobhan sat beside her on the bed. "Where's he going to live?"

Assumpta shook her head, finding that last ounce of fury in the base of her belly. "He might have signed up for full disclosure, but I didn't."

"No, I wasn't asking that." Siobhan sighed. "I was wondering if he needs my spare room. I cleared it out for the baby, but until then it's free to a good home and I don't see Peter Clifford putting holes in the walls."

"After this, who'd blame him?" Assumpta nearly smiled. "I don't think he knows where he's going to live."

"I'll ask him." Siobhan waited another moment, then left.

Assumpta went to the loo and washed her face. If only she had ice upstairs. The red around her eyes would take a while to fade.

Make-up it was.

So Brendan and Siobhan were on-side. But Niamh, how could she think -? No, Assumpta pushed it from her head. She had a pub to run, bigger fish to fry. She could wallow or rage, or both, later.

Peter caught her eye as she came back down the stairs. He looked concerned but wouldn't – couldn't go to her. Not now. Later.

Maybe.

Niamh, at least, had cleared off. The kitchen was a safe refuge again, and she only needed it once or twice now that people were running out of questions. But Peter didn't stay much longer than the inquisition. That's what he was here for this afternoon. He got up to leave and they all made a point of farewelling _Mr Clifford_, or just plain _Peter_.

God, she'd been calling him that most of the time for upwards of a year.

More than a year, he'd said. He was right too. What a mess! And by some cruel trick it had to get messier before they could set it to rights.


	11. Chapter 11

The phone rang as the last couple of customers were dilly-dallying over their last couple mouthfuls of beer.

"Fitzgerald's." Assumpta answered, as always.

"Hiya." The two tiny sounds, barely words, were unmistakably Peter, and he was unmistakably exhausted.

"Hi." She turned away from Brendan's insatiable curiosity.

"You alright?" He said.

"Sure. Brendan's watching me like a fox. Fancies himself a body guard, I suspect."

"Good." Even one syllable words and he sounded ravaged.

"That was pretty rough today." Assumpta said, hoping doing so would give him a kind of permission to admit it.

"No, it was fine. Well, not great, but necessary. I don't know. I thought it went okay."

"Maybe." She didn't particularly want to argue about the merits of what was done and, fingers crossed, over with.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Oh, yeah." She half laughed.

"Look, I, ah," he sighed heavily.

"What is it?"

"I have to go to Manchester."

"What?"

"My mum's-" another breath, heavy and haggard, "she's not doing so good."

"Oh, God."

"I know the timing is just-"

"Don't worry about that. Is it serious?"

"Think so, yeah."

God, would he ever get a break? One thing after another. But he clearly wasn't thinking about that. He went on, "I'm sorry to leave you with all this to deal with. I mean, the timing is the worst."

"No, you have to go."

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Earliest I can get is out of Dublin tomorrow morning."

"Right." She turned, hoping the place had miraculously emptied out but no such luck.

Brendan caught her eye. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah." She didn't really expect him to believe her.

"We'll be off then, eh?" Brendan got up and held the door open till Siobhan went through it. "See you tomorrow 'Ssumpta."

"'Night." She said, waited for the latch to click then turned back to the phone. "You still there?"

"Yeah."

"They've all cleared off, if you want to come over."

She could hear the smile in his answer, "If I want to?"

"What time's your flight?"

"Half past eleven."

"I'll drive you."

"What? No, I can take the bus."

"I'll drive you. You might be a little early, but I'll be back in time to open."

After a beat he said, "I'll see you in a few."

She hung up, a smile sneaking onto her features despite everything.

* * *

In a few, he'd said. A few what? Hours? Days? The bottle of red had well and truly breathed now. She was about to call and make sure no further tragedy had struck – it'd hardly surprise her at this point.

He let himself in the back door and she kept her seat at the bar. If he was trying to keep it together she'd hardly help by rushing into a bear hug.

He pulled a bulging ruck sack off his back and balanced it against a leg of the kitchen table.

"What's all this?" She raised an eyebrow to the bag.

"Just wanted to be sure I was ready for tomorrow."

She nodded. "Staying over then?"

He was too damn cute, nervous and embarrassed like that. "Just wanted to be prepared for any eventuality."

"It's not a gamble, Peter. Do you want to stay?"

He let out a breath. The question hardly required an answer.

"Glass of wine?"

His nod was barely perceptible. He walked around to sit beside her at the bar. "Thanks."

"You alright?"

He picked up his glass and lifted it, just barely, in a silent toast to something or other, but didn't answer the question.

"You certain it's serious?"

He nodded. "Yeah, Ben knows I'm always near-broke. He wouldn't have -" He sighed, shook his head. "It shouldn't have come as a surprise, anyway."

"But it always does."

"Maybe." His eyes closed for a moment, "I didn't mean to abandon you in the middle of all this, but it's - "

"It's your mum." She finished for him.

He nodded, struggling. "How old were you?"

"Twenty."

"I thought it was after you finished college."

"It was." She tilted her head, trying to read his face, "I was quick."

He smiled at that. "I offered to answer everyone's questions but now you're going to get it."

"If there are any questions left."

He watched her. "What did Niamh say?"

"This and that. It doesn't matter. You have to go. Niamh and the lot of them will just have to grow up or I'll bar them."

"What, the whole town?"

"If that's what it takes."

He swirled his wine and took a slow drink. "This is the good stuff."

"Are you closet to her?"

He shrugged, "When we see each other we are. We're not great at keeping in touch."

She watched his fingers toying with the stem of the wine glass. "Do they know?"

He shook his head. "I hadn't thought of a single one of them in weeks."

"Distracted, was it?"

He smiled. "Probably."

"You don't have to say. You know that right? I know you want to be honest, keep things above board but," she put her empty glass on the bar but didn't refill it right away, "that ship sailed a few weeks back."

"I'll tell them. I don't want to keep this a secret. I know right this minute I don't look it, and maybe this afternoon I didn't sound it, but do you have any idea how happy I am?"

She laughed at that. He looked miserable. "Understated bliss."

"Before Ben phoned I was walking around my place, sorting out which is my stuff and which is Brian's, with this ridiculous grin on my face, just glad that for a few hours I didn't have to keep it under wraps."

She lay her fingers over his hand on his knee. "I know. It's a god damned roller coaster."

He turned his hand and laced his fingers with hers. "What did Niamh say?" He held tight to her hand before she could pull away.

"She doesn't think much of me, turns out."

"That's not true."

"She's not entirely wrong. I did marry Leo. I loved you then. But she doesn't believe that bit."

"What bit?"

"That I love you."

He glowed a little as she said it. "Well what does she think?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, that this is a whim? That I'll break your heart. You know, I don't think she blames you at all. And she won't be the only one."

He gritted his teeth. "I can't run off when things are like this."

"You have to."

"Come with me."

"What, and ask Niamh to cover?"

"Come with me."

She shook her head. "I can't intrude like that. And I can't leave this place. I just have to face the music. I'll be fine. It all pales in comparison to what you'll be facing."

He took a gulp of wine and put his glass down on the bar, resting his arm there.

She took that hand too. "You never know. Miracles happen." She met his gaze. "Apparently."

He smiled at that, then cocked his head to the side. "Not that I've ever seen one."

"When did that stop you believing in something?" She said but immediately thought of one instance; that stupid sweating statue debacle. Still, with regards his Mum, nothing was certain yet. Surely. "Don't give up, yeah?"

He looked so tired. "Are _you_ trying to tell _me_ to have faith?"

"See? Miracles."

He didn't even smile. She slipped off the stool and pulled him to standing and into an embrace at once. He pressed the side of his nose into her temple and said, "What are we going to do?"

"Nothing." She rubbed his back. "Right now, nothing. Another glass of wine, bed, or just nothing at all."

He held her tight. "Thank you."

* * *

We're getting into territory I feel like I've already written before... or several other people have. Any requests here? Questions? Suggestions? Items on your wishlists? Consider this your chance to play pick-a-path.

Or maybe I'll wrap this one up, as much fun as I'm having writing it. I do have an idea for a sweet little epilogue scene. It'll make you gag. You'll love it.


	12. Chapter 12

Entwined in the dark, Assumpta felt the breeze of Peter's sigh against her clavicle.

"What?" She said.

"Your skin." His hand moved like a cloud over her waist, drifting to her hip. "It's so soft." He let out another breath against her neck and she shivered. His fingertips danced on the goosebumps. "There's not a bed in the world that won't be a let down after this. You're ruining me for life."

"Simple solution comes to mind." She brushed her forehead against his chin, lifted her lips to the line of his jaw.

"Except for the simple part." He pulled her in tight. "I don't want to go."

"I know."

"And somehow, at the same time, I wish I was already there." He said then groaned into her hair.

"I know." She held him tighter.

"Except, of course, you'd still be just here, just like this, but, you know, in the spare room two doors down from Mum."

She chucked, "Well, here at least I can get up in the night without fear of meeting your mother en route to the loo."

After a silence he said. "I wish you could meet her. I wish she could meet you."

"The thought scares me half to death."

"Why?"

She leaned back to see his face, in what little residual light highlighted the shadows of her room. "What did she think of you becoming a priest?"

"Ah." He got it. "She was proud. Surprised, but glad."

Assumpta nodded. "What will you tell her?"

He lay back. "Well, the best opening line would probably be, 'Good news, Mum, there's a chance you'll get grandkids after all' – but it's probably a little early, if at all."

"That's a strange thought."

"Is it?"

"Not bad, just strange."

He took her elbow and pulled her up against his side, kissing her head as soon as it was in reach.

"What about your brothers? Surely they'll procreate at some point."

"Ben's gay. And Daniel is threatening to become a priest."

"What?" She got up on her elbow. "How do I not know these things?"

"Never came up."

She shook her head and then buried it in his shoulder as his arm went around her again. The silence was warm and sweet. God, what she'd do to fall asleep like this every night.

"Thanks for letting me stay." He said eventually.

"Don't mention it."

"Better awake here than asleep anywhere else."

"You're not sleepy?" She felt rather than saw him shake his head. It'd be so easy to run her hand down his chest. Down, down, down. "You know what's meant to help with that?" She said instead of racing ahead and showing him.

He chuckled but took her hand and held it firm over his heart.

"So Ben's the eldest?" She asked. Sometimes the best way to fall asleep was to stop trying so hard to do it. And here in the dark, close and warm and quiet, never was conversation so easy.

"No, I am."

"Ah, well that explains all your organising the community, bossing us around."

"You're one to talk."

"Hey, I'm an only child. We're even worse. Can't help it."

"Better. You're even better." He lifted her chin so he could kiss her. "You taste like red wine." He kissed her again as if to make sure. "It's what I always thought you'd taste like."

"You thought about that?"

"This comes as a surprise?"

It did, actually, but she didn't say so and squeezed him tight. How was it possible that she could love him even more? "I thought you were a lager man."

"Once upon a time." He kissed her again. There was no drive to it, that was all, a kiss, and another, as many as he liked. Only yesterday he'd bought her painkillers for cramps – day before yesterday, technically. He could see the read out on the alarm clock, just gone one in the morning.

It'd be so easy to pretend this was where he belonged, looking after her. And her looking after him, as if they really belonged to each other. It was more tempting a fantasy than even she was tempting, warm and smooth and soft beneath an oversized tshirt and boxer shorts that really presented no obstacle at all.

Maybe if he could just stop moving his hands over her body he'd be able to sleep. But if it was a choice between sleep and this, he'd take all that smooth skin and her every sigh, each breathy laugh against his neck and the tug of her kiss on his skin, the tickle of her hair at his nose and the scent of bordeaux. "Red wine like that always makes me think of you."

She was half asleep but she spoke. "Not of the sacraments?"

"No." Once upon a time, maybe. Not in a long time, now.

* * *

He'd moved away in his sleep, leaving only one hand on her breast. It was still dark and she couldn't see the clock without lifting her head. She watched his shadowed form and tried to savour it, being together like this.

"What's the time?" He said, startling her.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was." He hadn't opened his eyes. "Tell me I don't need to get up yet."

She hoisted her heavy head off the pillow. "No, you've an hour at least."

He lifted his hand from her breast. "Sorry."

"Good dream?" She took his hand and put it right back, interlacing her fingers with his.

"No dream at all, thank god. I needed the rest."

She wanted to ask if he dreamed about them but didn't dare, didn't want to intrude.

"This is just the right shape, very restful place for a hand. What's the word – ergonomic."

She laughed.

"Oh, I'm dreading this." He wriggled his head into the nook beside hers. "Ever again leaving your bed must be madness."

"I don't know, I'd say the madness was putting it off this long. What would you have done if I hadn't stopped us – in the rehearsal?"

"I'd have kissed you."

"Just like that."

"It was in the script. And I wanted to do it. Thought the reality of it might help matters." He thumbed her nipple, smiling at its response. "And I wanted to do it."

"It might have changed everything."

"Father Mac might have sent me on retreat months earlier."

"You might have run away properly."

He considered her for a moment. Either it was getting light or his eyes were well-adjusted to the dark now; he could see the red of her lips. "I might have." His mind kept wandering back to whatever might be happening in that hospital in Manchester, no matter how much more appealing the image before him or any number of bitter-sweet memories.

She slipped her fingers out from between his and stroked up his arm. "It's only a few weeks. You'll be back before you know it."

"It's too long and too soon. But it's not as if any of this is unfamiliar to me, the longing for it and dreading it. I've witnessed death – lots of times."

"More than most. But this is different."

"Were you there?"

"When – oh, my mum? No. It was sudden. She was forty nine, healthy, as far as anyone knew. And then it was all over. Even if I'd been home, she'd have been unconscious. I'd never have known if she heard a word I had to say and what do you say anyway?"

"When you don't have the script."

After a moment she went on. "There were things I wished I'd said, of course, but better sudden than the alternative. Dad was sick for months. It was a relief at the end."

"You were there then?"

She nodded. "But after that I didn't have to go to church any more, so that answers for the relief." She caught his eye, smiled. "I was sixteen, self-involved as anyone."

"Sounds like self-protection as much as anything."

"Yeah, well, I guess Mum was hedging her bets. We couldn't put a foot wrong, just in case there was a miracle to be had. But she didn't expect him raised from the dead, so once he was gone, I was free to be a heathen."

"Do you have any idea how brave you are?"

"What's brave about it? Not as if I had any choice in the matter."

"Yes you did, in how you faced in, in what you became out of all that."

No question, he admired her more than was her due, but she didn't mind. "Maybe it would've been braver to stay, to face it."

"Who, your mum?"

"And the rest."

"The town."

"No, your man on the hill."

"What, God?"

"Don't sound so surprised."

He smiled, "Sorry."

"Don't give it up too easily." She said, struggling to maintain eye contact. "Okay?"

"What, faith?"

"Yeah."

He craned his neck, making sure she was looking right at him. "I'm not. This doesn't – I mean it's more likely the other way around."

"Peter, you don't have to explain it to me, I just -" She had her hand on his side, holding him at a distance, meagre though it was.

"No, it's not like that. If I'd somehow given you up and stuck at being a priest, I'd have resented, eventually, all of it. I'd have been a terrible priest but worse than that."

"So you gave up the priesthood to save your faith?" Her hand was on his hip now, as if to insist he tell the truth on this point. For sex, no. For so much more than that.

But for sex too. "I thought I made it pretty clear what I gave up the priesthood for, but it might just work out that way."

She slipped her fingers under the waist of his shorts and he breathed in deep, fast. Her hand was cool by comparison. He thirsted for every lick of her fingers across his abdomen, his thigh, his -

"You don't need to do this."

"I want to." She whispered against his bottom lip.

"It's not why I stayed."

"You think I don't know?"

"Just making sure."

She tightened her grip. "I love you."

He closed his eyes and held onto her.

* * *

I took a course at Uni entitled, "Sex, Death and Salvation in Asian Religions", which was a great way to fill the lecture theatre for the first week, but could probably be accused of false advertising... anyway, it strikes me as pretty close to an appropriate title for where this story is going, regional specifics aside. I've got a couple of ideas so there'll be a couple more chapters, but get your requests in quick. xx Amy


	13. Chapter 13

He went back to sleep. Of course he went back to sleep. She watched him, and the clock, and wondered if he'd need long for a shower. She could have got up and had one herself – technically. It was possible to get up out of bed. She could probably even do it without waking him, but just for today she'd indulge. Washing wasn't essential. These were not normal circumstances. She lay there until it began to be stupid, and then she said his name.

The third time he stirred.

"We have to get going." She said.

He stretched, balling fists and arching, yawning as if he'd might turn inside out. She laughed and he opened his eyes. Blinking, he croaked, "'Morning."

One day this might be ordinary, but today was the first time they'd woken up together, and he just kept looking at her. She managed to say, "Hi."

"You are so beautiful." He lifted his fingers but didn't touch her.

She took his hand. "You are so... late, if you don't get a move on."

He nodded. "Quick shower. Flask of coffee for the car, maybe?"

She smiled. "I'll do the coffee. Go on."

Neither of them moved. He cleared his throat, "Right then." He sat up, pulling the covers with him. He should have kept going, used what little momentum he had at the zenith, but he turned to look at her. He felt for her knee through the blanket and skirted up her body. He had little choice in the matter, really. But he saw the clock before he kissed her, and dropped his weight onto her tantalising form for only a moment before reaching one foot to the floor. "Towel?"

"In the – ah, I'll show you." She pushed him off the bed and out of the room as if doing the locomotion. "The trick with the tap is," she leaned past him and pointed, "turn that one full-on and this one just a smidgen. Turn it on and then nearly off again."

He nodded. She was awfully close – wonderfully close. And she smelled like sleep and, well, the ingredients of that scent probably didn't bear thinking about but the result was intoxicating.

Wisely, she slipped out of the bathroom and closed the door firmly behind her.

He came clean and dressed and certainly packed. She handed him the flask and said, "Go on."

He pulled on his jacket and went through the door, lifting his bag onto one shoulder, moving aside in the space between the two doors so she could catch up. "Better not hang about on the road for all to see."

Opening the door she looked up and there he was, the man she'd picked up in the rain three years ago. She reached out, hesitating a moment before she took his face between her hands, fingers loose around his ears, his hair still damp from the shower. His mouth was soft and familiar now. He had his hands full but cooperated, kissing her back when the surprise wore off, pressing his body to hers as her arms went around his shoulders.

"Right," she said in a breath, pulling away just a smidgen, then pausing.

"What was that for?"

"Looked like you needed it." She thumbed the lipstick from his lip and then nodded. "Right."

He followed her through the open door, a little dazed, but then he saw Ambrose walking the beat on the other side of the street. Assumpta had made a bee-line for the van, was getting in already. Peter turned as if his back was less recognisable, and there was Kathleen Hendly, shaking her head, scowling.

Peter opened the back door of the van and dropped his bag in, considering for a moment some kind of damage control. He could pop over to the store and buy something and just happen to mention that Assumpta had offered to give him a lift to the airport, his mother was ill. It wasn't even a lie.

Assumpta knocked on the partition and he heard her muffled, "Come on."

Soon as he shut the door she said, "Timing eh?"

"Are there usually this many people up before nine in the morning?"

And then there was Brendan, on his bicycle, with a smug grin for them both.

"Aren't you usually one of them?" Assumpta asked and drove out of town.

"This is going to go down like a ton of bricks."

"Yeah, well, you'll be in Manchester so don't worry about it."

He just shook his head. "Coffee?"

"No, go ahead. Save me some for the straight bit of road."

He wasn't quite awake enough for conversation, just yet, but his mind whirred away. By the time he got back to Ballykissangel he'd be homeless. Staying at Assumpta's would be just plain foolish, assuming it was even an option, but rather than tackling that problem he skipped on beyond. Eventually, ill-prepared, he spoke, "I know it's going to be months till I'm free and then, well," the words didn't come easy, "I know chances are slim, and that's fine. I know it's not important to you to, well."

"What?" She said and there was more oomph to it than plan old confusion.

"Sorry, I'm not making any sense. Forget it, it's too soon." He clicked the seal of the flask open and shut. "But the longer we wait to get things started the longer we wait and," he put the flask aside before it got irritating, "it might be a long time."

"Yeah, I know. It's okay, Peter. I do want this - to marry you. No need to skirt around the issue."

He smiled.

She didn't. "You think it's not important to me?"

"No, I just meant the doing it in a church."

"It is. I mean – it's important to you, right?"

"Well, yeah, but I understand if it's just not -

"Am I talking to a brink wall? I love you. It's important to you, so of course I -" She shook her head, "Damn it, Peter. Don't you get it?"

"Sorry. It's taking a little while to sink in."

She nodded and sipped her coffee.

"The thing is," he began then lost his nerve. There seemed no way he was going to get this right.

"The thing is," she said in just the same tone and when he didn't finish the sentence she did, "I haven't even talked to Leo, let alone looked into the possibility of an annulment."

"Do you think it's possible?"

"Isn't that rather your field of expertise?" She turned from the road for a moment to look at him.

"Not really." He took her empty cup and poured the last of their supply. "But I was asking more about how you thought Leo might take it."

"I have no idea." She said. "But I'll find out. Today even. You're right, the longer we wait, the longer we wait."

"Give it a few days. Let things settle. Maybe talk to Niamh."

She thumped the steering wheel. "Peter-"

"No, I'm serious. This is what you do, the two of you. She'll calm down and you'll-"

"This is a little different, don't you think?"

"The cause maybe, but the effect is the same as ever."

"It's really not." She shook her head, "This isn't one of Quigley's schemes or a set-up with some guy I couldn't give two shakes about. She knows us – both of us. That she could think -" Assumpta shook her head. "Just leave it okay? If she comes around, she comes around. I'm not going to beg forgiveness and say I'm sorry because I'm not."

He took a deep breath. "Me neither."

"Good. So Niamh will get her proof, if she still needs it, when I marry you. Until then, Leo's the big fish." And now she just had to fry him. The guilt landed heavy on her shoulders again.

"What will you say?" Peter asked.

Good question, but the gist of it was rather straight forward, "I'll grovel."

"You know how to do that, do you?"

She tossed the flask cap cup at him, including what coffee remained in the bottom.

He caught it, but the coffee made a dark mark down his shirt and over his crotch. "Hey!"

"Hey yourself." She glanced over and bit back a laugh. "Good thing you've got a sack of clothes."

"More dirty than clean the way I'm going." He put the cap on the flask and dabbed tissues uselessly at his shirt. "I can't believe you threw your coffee at me."

"I'm just surprised it's the first time."

* * *

They made good time but the free parking rules gave them fifteen minutes to say goodbye. They say in silence, side by side, hands clasped across the handbrake.

"I'd better go." He watched her thumb trace a vein on the back of his hand.

She nodded, "You'll call, yeah?"

"I will."

"Okay."

He lifted her hand to his lips, then his forehead.

She put her other hand on the back of his neck. "Hey, it'll be okay."

"Yeah. Sure you won't come?"

She smiled and kissed him. "No hurry 'kay?"

With one more firm kiss he opened the door of the van, and shook his head at the coffee stain on his crotch. "See ya."

She looked him in the eye, nodding. He lingered till he felt silly then went for his bag.

* * *

Ben opened the front door and threw his long arms around both Peter and the backpack. "He's here! You must be able to walk on water. I thought they'd sent you to some far off land."

"No, not so far." Peter patted his brother on the shoulder and then let go. "You alright?"

"Right enough. Come in."

Daniel called out from down the hall, "Terrible timing, as ever. Unless you brought milk?"

"We've just had tea and used it all up." Ben explained and led the way to the kitchen.

"That's okay. I don't need anything."

"Did you stop by the hospital yet?"

"No. You been already today?" Peter dropped his bag in the hall.

Daniel stood and embraced him. "I stopped by this morning. We could go now though."

"They don't mind a crowd?" Peter sat down, suddenly in no hurry at all to see his mum.

"We'll take turns." Daniel said. "And anyway, priests don't count."

"Hopefully my services won't be required today." Peter said, feeling like a total coward. Now didn't seem the time the tell them, but it might never _seem_ like the time.

* * *

She was sleeping when they got there, the three of them going in at once at the nurse's insistence.

"It's good she's getting her rest." Peter said.

Ben nodded. "She'll be glad to see you. It's been too long."

"She understands that, though." Daniel assured.

"Still." Peter sat down and took the pale veined hand, limp on the bed. She didn't stir. "What are they saying?"

"Not long now." Ben leaned on the wall, crossing his ankles, resigned. He had a talent for accepting things as they were, something Peter envied.

"I wonder if she had lunch." Daniel poked his head out the door, in search of a nurse.

Peter picked up her chart but couldn't make sense of it, probably in part because he hadn't had enough sleep all week and nothing in his stomach since yesterday, except coffee.

"We can wait till she wakes." Ben tried to still Daniel's restlessness. Peter smiled at the familiar dynamic.

Daniel turned to Peter, "So, how's the flock?"

"Fine," Peter shook his head. Moment of truth then, "They're fine, but, ah, not mine. Not mine anymore."

"What?" Came the whispered chorus.

"I, ah, hadn't had a chance to tell you and then all this – but I'm leaving the priesthood."

"What?"

"Why?"

"You can't tell mum."

Peter smiled, turned to his mother. "You think she'll be angry?"

Ben said, "No. What is it?"

"What happened?" Daniel insisted.

"Nothing bad. It's just, I want to be with someone and she-" he turned to see his brother's reactions – Ben, curious, smiling and Daniel all shock, disbelief. "She's unforgettable, or if she isn't I don't want to."

"You fell in love." Ben said, no question in it.

"I don't believe this." Daniel shook his head. "Now? With Mum like this and you want to -" he turned away, "Your timing sucks."

"Yeah, well, none of this was planned." Peter took a deep breath. "But I will tell her. I think Ben's right. It's not going to kill her."

"Oh, I don't know." Daniel turned back to face them. "Who is she?"

"Just someone in the town, a friend."

"Not one of your flock." Daniel got it in one.

Peter cocked his head to one side, "No."

"Surprise surprise."

"Daniel- " Ben warned.

"What? Oh, come on. It's hardly the first time."

Peter held up his hand. "It is _absolutely_ the first time. This is completely different."

"You're hardly objective."

"Look, I don't need to prove it to you. Think what you like, Dan. It is what it is."

"You're getting married?"

"Soon as we can manage it."

Dan huffed out a deep breath as if he thought Peter was biting off more than he could chew.

Their mother groaned and Peter watched her, giving her hand a little squeeze. They waited, and she stirred. Peter said, "Hi Mum." And that was impetus enough for her to open her eyes. She smiled. She veritably shone, tugging him down and lifting her other arm to pull him into a hug.

"Peter, oh my Peter." She said into his collar, bony hands gripping his arms.

"How you feeling?" He said, keeping hold of her hand as he stood up again.

She settled back in the pillows, "Terrible, but never mind that. How are you?"

He smiled.

"Better than ever, apparently." Daniel said.

Ignoring the tone, their mother said, "I'm glad to hear it. Now, sit down and tell me everything."

Ben patted Peter's shoulder. "We'll leave you to it." He shepherded Daniel out of the room.

"Well?" She asked, simply.

"It can wait. I'm sorry I haven't been back in so long and now – tell me, how have you been?"

"There's nothing to tell, darling. I'm old and tired and it's nearly over, thank heaven. What was all that about?"

He sighed, covered her hand with both of his. "I met someone. Well, I met her a long time ago now, but I want to marry her. I'm going to marry her."

Mrs Clifford watched him, eyes sharp, curious. "You're giving up the church?"

"Just the priesthood."

She looked a little concerned now, confused even. "You're sure?"

He took a deep breath, "I am, yeah. It's all very recent and I hadn't had a chance to tell you."

"She makes you happy?"

His face broke into a smile and then he nodded, "Yeah."

"Then I'm glad." She tugged weakly but he knew she wanted another hug. Close to his ear she said, "It's quite the sacrifice."

"Not as much as the alternative."

"No, I suppose not." She said eventually. "And I'm going to miss all of it."

He bit down, watching her. She seemed alert, frail but not in any distress. "You never know. You might get better."

"You think we'd get on? What is she, a teacher?"

"No, a publican."

She laughed and winced. "Seriously?"

He nodded. His brothers were going to get a kick out of that too.

"You always did spend to much time at the pub – for a priest, anyway."


	14. Chapter 14

He wasn't living there, so why did this greater distance make Fitzgerald's feel more empty? Irrational, and hardly full of confidence, Assumpta phoned Leo. She'd told Peter she'd do it, and so she did. Simple as that.

Leo picked up after half a dozen rings and answered with a quick, "Assumpta."

"Hi." She said and waited. It seemed the gracious thing to do, and if it was partly out of cowardice – well, she'd made the phone call for a start. She needed a moment.

"So?" He said after a few moments' silence.

"So." She took a deep breath. "I wanted to, um, get things under way, I suppose."

"By things, you mean magically disappear the marriage that never was."

"Leo-"

He stopped her before she went on, "No, no. I'm off the clock so let's call a spade a shovel."

"I was hoping we could do this without shovels."

"This being a divorce? Or is there hope yet?"

"No, I'm sorry – I really am. You didn't deserve, or rather you deserved a whole lot better – " She still hadn't decided whether or not she'd tell him exactly when and where things had begun with Peter. If he asked then she'd answer, truthfully, but to volunteer the information was something else.

"I didn't mean hope for _us_. I know when I'm beat."

"Then hope for what?"

Eventually he said, "The alternative." Another long achy pause, "Is there a reason you'd rather not have a divorce on the books?"

"Oh."

"Yeah." Silence again. Generally Assumpta didn't mind silence but Leo could hold it interminably. She could've just ended it herself but didn't want to rush him. She dreaded getting this wrong and paying the price for years to come. Leo spoke at last, "Will he do it?"

"Will he do what?" She needn't clarify who 'he' was.

Leo ran out of patience, "Will he give up the church, or is all this just some - "

"He will." She stopped him, "He has."

"What?" He didn't say, 'Already?'. He didn't need to.

"I don't know how long it takes." She said. Surely Leo didn't need or want to know all this. "He's already left, in practise."

"I'm sure he has."

"Leo – "

"I know." She could imagine the dirty look he'd be giving her, "That's not what you meant."

She didn't know what to say and asking for an annulment just now would be hasty, abrupt.

"Just tell me." Leo said.

She knew what he wanted to know. "Yeah." He'd need more than yes or no. "Yes, once before you left."

Silence.

"It wasn't planned, or – "

"Grand, you were just swept away, now I feel better. Can't you at least let me think of all this as some cold and calculated thing. Real nasty, nothing to be jealous of. I get to hate you, the both of you."

"I'm sorry Leo. I thought, I mean I really thought he'd never – I thought you and I could make a go of it. I was wrong – it was me in the wrong, in all of it. I messed it all up."

His breath grated, a huff or a snort, short and sharp. "You want an annulment?"

She swallowed hard, and answered, barely above a whisper, "Yeah."

"So that you can marry the priest."

Her voice shrunk, "Yeah."

"Fine." He said, then nothing else.

"Thank you. And I am sorry. So sorry."

"You said. Look, I have to get on."

"Yeah - " She was about to say goodbye but he'd already hung up.

She'd have phoned Peter right away – but she didn't have a phone number. How could she have forgotten to get that information? He'd call at some point. Probably in the middle of a rush. Then again, her timing was just as likely to terrible as his.

All evening, she toyed with the phrasing, just how she'd tell Peter this good news. It might still take months, but not the four years minimum for a divorce. And more importantly perhaps, they'd be able to marry in a church. Relief swept through her every time she thought of it, not because she had her heart set on a church wedding but she knew it mattered to Peter, and despite her best efforts, her heart was set on him. This terrible mistake she'd made wouldn't haunt them forever.

* * *

He did call – the next morning. On hearing his voice her first thought was that his mother had died already.

"Are you okay?" She daren't ask more directly.

"I'm fine. They all took it really well. Even Daniel is, well, not over the moon, but accepting."

"Oh, right. Well, that's good." She hoped it was safe to ask then, "How is she?"

"Tired. Sleeping a lot. But not in distress or much pain, from what we can tell. It could be worse."

She nearly laughed at that, his impossible positivity.

"I meant to call last night. I fell asleep."

"No, it's fine. Long day."

"And not a lot of sleep the night before."

She did laugh this time, "You make it sound like we were at it like rabbits. Wait – you're winding up your brothers aren't you?"

"No, just trying to cheer you up. Good idea though. Next time."

"How is that even your – I don't - " She took a deep breath. "I don't understand you sometimes."

"I thought you sounded a bit, I don't know, what's going on there?"

"Nothing. It was a quiet night, no inquisition, and then that's it."

"You're hiding out of sight?"

"Kathleen Hendly saw us. Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "Okay."

Not until after he'd hung up did she realise, she didn't have his number, and she hadn't told him about the annulment.

* * *

Ben had gone to work for something that wouldn't take long, and Mum'd be asleep anyway, he said. She woke up almost as soon as he left, but the nurses needed to bathe her and kicked her sons out to the vending-machine decorated waiting room.

"So, have you decided yet?" Peter sat beside Daniel and handed over a coffee.

"Decided? Oh, that." He sighed. "I think I have to _not_."

Peter nodded. "If you're not absolutely sure about it – there are other ways to live out a faith."

Daniel laughed. "You'd know."

"I'm gonna find out."

"Were you sure?"

"Yeah, as sure as I'd ever been about anything."

"Till now, right?" Daniel was certainly not over the moon, but perhaps Peter had underplayed things a little to Assumpta.

"Well this is different. With the priesthood it was between me and God, and the church I suppose. Two of which are fallible and one of them is me – which is at least relatively within my control."

"So you're not sure of this girl then? But you're still leaving the priesthood for her? Isn't that a bit -"

"I am sure of her, but as much as you can be sure of another person. Relationships don't always play by one person's rules."

"You're mad."

"Maybe. But the alternative was about to drive me over the brink." Peter grimaced at the taste of his coffee, even worse now that it was cold. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I'm taking some courses at the university, till I find something else. Or maybe I'll be a perpetual student."

Peter listened while Dan described the philosophy papers he was taking and wondered about a return to academia himself. It did seem a good place to be uncertain, or perhaps that was just the philosophy department.

* * *

Assumpta pulled everything out of the fridge, but it was not just her imagination. She was out of both butter and margarine. Seriously? How did this sort of thing happen?

She had possibly been a little distracted of late. But still.

Well, if she was going to go over there she might as well pick up anything else she needed. With a half dozen things on her list, she put some cash in her pocket and summoned courage.

She bowled out the door and then turned to lock it, taking one more deep breath before facing the street.

Of the few people around abouts, no one reacted immediately to her presence. She made a bee-line for Kathleen's and met the lady's gaze through the glass. Assumpta looked away, paused to consider the newspaper on the step, and then heard the clunk of a latch. She looked up to see the closed sign swinging on the door.

It was such a ridiculous over reaction she nearly laughed.

Damn it, she needed butter. Cilldargen it was.

* * *

The bar was quiet. In fact, come seven at night, she hadn't seen a single local. A few passers-through, but not even Brendan, Siobhan and Padraig. She served dinner to a couple of tourists and was about to sit down for something herself when Brendan showed up.

He did his usual bit, glorying in the quiet of his favourite local pub, taking his sweet time over his pint. Assumpta didn't rise to it. The man seemed almost disappointed.

The tourists were gone and he was on the dregs when she asked, "Am I a leper now, is that it?"

"You should see the doc if that's what you're worried about."

"Brendan-" she warned.

"I don't know. You might want to be a bit more careful in future. Where is the man anyway?"

She shook her head. Tempting though it was to tell Brendan, the whole town would know by lunch time tomorrow, and it seemed like bartering Peter's grief for customers.

"Is he in trouble?"

"No."

"He's my friend too, you know." Brendan banged the glass down.

"Another?"

"Assumpta."

"Fine." She took the glass, "His mother's ill."

"Oh. Ill, or _ill_?"

"_Ill_."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't know her."

"But you," he nodded for a refill. "Well, is he alright?"

She shrugged and poured the pint.

"Have one yourself. It's not as if you've anything else to do."

* * *

Mrs Clifford was sleeping so Dan went to his class and Ben grilled Peter across their mother's rising and falling chest.

"This is huge." Dan folded his long arms and watched his brother, hawk-like.

"It is." Peter barely nodded.

"What are you going to do?"

Peter shrugged, "Maybe pick up a few classes. I don't know."

"You can pick up a whole PhD, but what are you going to do with it in Ballykissangel?"

"I don't know, Ben. I'll probably end up working bar, before long. I don't mind. In fact, listening to everyone's problems, serving drinks," He shrugged.

"Yeah, yeah."

"She's worth it." Peter said, firm.

"Forgive me, but how can you possibly know that?"

"I just know."

Ben shook his head, "This is not the same as me. Being sure of any one person is a far sight more than being sure of which half of the species you want to - "

"Yeah." Peter cut him off then took a deep breath. "I know."

"She's not a catholic?"

"Not practising. It is Ireland."

"But she doesn't share your values, your beliefs."

"Some beliefs, no, but values aren't the sole purview of the religious."

"Sure, but - "

Peter cut him off. "You want the ugly truth – she's married. Married her college boyfriend – not straight out of university, no, just months ago. I knew, before that, that I loved her, but I thought I could get her out of my system. I didn't even think of her – that she might be just as, well, snowed under by this thing between us. She'd been waiting, I guess, but I told her it couldn't happen. And nothing happened. I ran away and in doing so – well, she jumped into," he struggled for the words. It still hurt, after all. The sting of that might take a long time to fade.

"A marriage?"

"It's as much my fault as it is hers."

Their mother stirred.

Dropping his voice, Ben went on, "You were trying to do the right thing. She was – I don't even know – marrying someone she didn't love, I presume."

"They had a history. It wasn't nothing. And sure, I was _trying_ to do the right thing, but I missed the mark. I hurt her."

"And she hurt you, I'd bet."

"Not on purpose."

"Oh, come on!"

This time their mother actually woke. They put the conversation on hold, or tried to, but Mrs Clifford wanted to know all about this girl, this woman who'd stolen her son's heart.

Peter told them about putting Kathleen's house to rights after the fire, about helping Niamh and Ambrose get back together, about rescuing Kevin from the old mine, and losing the Javelin, and their impromptu Christmas feast at the pub.

Mrs Clifford went back to sleep.

"This has been going on a while, eh?" Ben said after a silence.

Peter nodded.

"You didn't see it coming?"

"I didn't see it becoming _this_."

Ben nodded. "She sounds like a pain in the bum."

Peter smiled.

"So she's probably perfect for you."

An alarm sounded on one of the machines. They stood. Ben went to the door. A nurse was on his way.

Peter stepped aside to let the man check everything.

"It won't be long now." He said. "If you have any questions I can call in one of the doctors."

Ben shook his head and said thank you.

"What about Dan?" Peter felt frozen to the spot.

"He'll be on his way back by now anyway. Phoning him won't make any difference."


	15. Chapter 15

Assumpta was about to close up. Brendan had gone home all of fifteen minutes ago, but if felt like longer. She made herself a cup of tea and put on her jacket, sitting out on the street as much for a bit of fresh air as to dare the passers by to leer and jeer at the seductress who'd led their priest astray.

But there weren't any passers by. She finished her tea, long before it cooled down, and then went inside.

Well, at least there wasn't much clean-up needing doing. She turned off the light and then heard a knock at the door. Light on again, she opened up.

Niamh.

"Hi." Assumpta said, remembering her resolve not to apologise for anything she wasn't sorry for.

"I couldn't sleep." Niamh barged in. "Quiet night?"

"You sound surprised." Assumpta went behind the bar, playing her part.

"I need to tell you something."

"What?" Assumpta was too tired for this. Niamh wasn't here for a drink. The publican was under no obligation to open her doors.

"Dad's opening a restaurant."

"What?"

"I'll do that." Niamh came around behind the bar and took the wine and bottle opener from Assumpta's hands.

"He'll put me out of business."

"Well, I don't know about that." Niamh pulled out the cork and poured two large glasses. "I just thought you should know. Forewarned is forearmed, or something."

Assumpta leaned on the bar. "What kind of restaurant?"

"Chinese, I think. But you know Dad, here today, gone tomorrow, or maybe it'll transform into a curry house tomorrow. I wouldn't worry."

"You wouldn't?"

Niamh took a gulp of her wine. "That depends, I guess."

"On what?"

"On lots of things. I mean, it might not matter what Dad's up to. Might make no difference at all."

"I might be out of business anyway, you mean."

"Really?"

"Don't sound so pleased."

"I'm not!"

Assumpta shook her head. "What do you want, Niamh?"

"I thought I should tell you, so I told you."

"Thanks." Assumpta delivered cold, holding Niamh's gaze, not backing down.

"Fine." She left her half glass of wine on the bar and walked out, leaving the door open. Assumpta watched her waltz away. What right had Niamh to be offended?

The phone rang.

"Fitzgerald's." Assumpta answered.

"'Sumpta." Peter's voice came in a breath.

She winced. "Oh no."

"Yeah." His voice was soft, fragile. "But you know, at least it's all," he sighed, "well."

"No, yeah, are you alright?"

"I'll come back on Wednesday, I think. There are a few things to be done around here. Not much though."

"Don't worry about that now."

"It'd be good to worry about something. Did you brave the great outdoors yet?"

"Yeah. But this isn't the time. I can come you know. It's hardly the tourist season."

"No, no, there's nothing you can do."

Assumpta remembered the one thing she really needed to tell him. "How about some good news?"

"Yes please."

"Leo's agreed to an annulment."

"What?"

"Yeah, surprised me too."

"He agreed?"

"Yep."

"Does he know about, ah, I mean he's not going to change his mind if, well - "

"He knows. With any luck I'll be free before you are." She heard him laugh, or nearly laugh. God, she wanted to step through the phone and be there.

"Okay," Peter took a deep breath. "Okay, maybe now I'll be able to sleep."

"There's the hope." Assumpta strained her ears to be sure that he wasn't upset and just hiding it.

"The hospital priest came, at the end." He said, out of the blue. She waited till he went on. "Weird thing is that, even years down the track, even if you and I have grandchildren, I can still do the last rites. If necessary."

After a silence she said, "When's the funeral?"

"Monday."

"Do you want me to come?"

She heard him exhale. "It's okay. It's just one day and then, no. You don't need to."

"I didn't ask if I needed to, Peter. If you want me, I'll come."

"No, it's okay."

She tried not to take it personally. Grief was a very private thing. Peter had always been less private that he was probably supposed to be, with her at least. But recently what remained of the distance between them was being gobbled up fast. She'd gotten used to it. It was too easy an adjustment, in fact. But this was all so new. She was hardly one hundred percent open with him. It was just too soon. These things took time.

* * *

She'd taken to expecting phone calls from Peter late in the evening. When the phone rang at ten in the morning she didn't expect it to be him, but the voice sounded uncannily similar.

"Peter?"

"Not quite. The younger, better looking version. I'm Ben, his brother."

"Ah, hi. Everything alright?"

"Oh, yeah, considering. Look, I know we don't know eacho ther at all, but I was wondering if you'd consider, ah, coming to Mum's funeral?"

"Oh, ah, well the thing is, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Oh."

He was clearly misunderstanding. "No, it's not that. I told Peter I'd come but I think he'd prefer – I mean it would complicate matters wouldn't it? This is hardly the best time to be explaining all that's going on."

"He wants you here, trust me." Ben said. "Can you come?"

After a beat, she answered. "Sure."

* * *

But the flight was delayed. She hired a car at some ridiculous rate. At least she could leave her bag in boot. She could even change her jeans for a mostly-black skirt, wriggling around in the passenger seat, parked up two blocks from the church.

She was late. But she waited in the lobby for a song, then ducked in the back and gave an apologetic grimace to a woman at the end of a row. The lady smiled and moved along. No one else noticed her.

She looked for Peter, of course. It was easy, from the back, and she knew his head among the crowd. He stood at the end of the service and joined the other pall bearers. They were nearly at the door before he saw her. His eyes went wide. She thought he might drop his corner but he smiled and recovered.

She joined the crowd leaving the church but outside she moved away. This was Peter's turf. He should choose how to manage things. Besides, Assumpta dreaded being asked how she knew the deceased. She ran answers over in her mind, pretending to be fascinated by the flowers and the architecture, hoping no one would approach. She'd decided to just lie when Peter found her.

"Assumpta." He said and as soon as she turned he took her hand. "I can't believe you're here."

"I know, I'm sorry. Your brother called me and," she looked down at their entwined hands, wondering if this was too public, but couldn't bear to pull away from him. "I would have been here beforehand but my flight was delayed."

"I'm just glad you're here."

She squeezed his hand. "Everything going alright?"

"Sure. I mean everyone made it and no one dropped the coffin."

"I didn't mean to surprise you like that."

He pulled her into an embrace. "I needed you. And there you were. Here you are."

"Hope you don't mind an audience." Assumpta squeezed him for a moment then tried to let go but he wouldn't cooperate. "Don't suppose I've an uncanny resemblance to your Great Aunt Susan."

"I don't think I have a Great Aunt Susan."

"Well then."

"Okay." He let her go just in time for someone's approach.

"Way to keep things under wraps." A guy walked up to them and held out his hand to Assumpta. "I'm Daniel."

"Assumpta." She shook his hand.

"This is our long lost cousin, from the Irish Cliffords. Great Aunt Susan's daughter."

"Ah, that explains all the affection."

"I thought so." Peter smiled wide and Assumpta cared less and less about the impression they were making on his extended family circle.

"Assumpta?" Daniel said her name again, "Huh. Nice name."

Assumpta smiled, turned to Peter.

"Runs in the family." He said, remembering his comments about her name when they'd first met.

"Huh?" Ben looked from one to the other but before they could explain another man approached, taller and thinner than Peter, "Everything alright?"

Dan answered, "Ben, have you met Assumpta?"

"We spoke on the phone." Ben held out his hand.

"Thanks." Peter and Assumpta said at once.

Ben laughed and shook his head. "So, are you making your big announcement or what?"

"Oh, ah, no." Peter shook his head. "I don't think it's the time."

Assumpta looked past him to see if anyone noticed their conference. A couple of older women were headed their way. "Look, I'll make myself scarce. It's not a problem. It's not as if I knew your mother."

"You don't need to." Peter said.

"Maybe it'd be for the best." Ben turned to face the oncoming friends and family members, then went to meet them.

"First time in Manchester?" Daniel asked, pulling his keys from his pocket.

"Yeah." Assumpta looked confused.

He handed over the keys. "Peter will give you directions."

* * *

And so she found herself with a couple of hours to kill, in a stranger's house, on a Monday afternoon. There were dishes drip-drying on the bench and she put them away, though where a cheese-grater goes is hard to be sure. She looked through the bookshelves and music collection. This was their mother's house, Peter had told her, though Ben and Dan lived here now, and had for a while. Their mother had gone into care just after Peter had arrived in Ballykissangel. Ben had been looking after her at home before that. Dan had moved back for the summer and then transferred to the seminary in Manchester.

She counted bedrooms, trying to decide if she should find a hotel. There were no extra beds here, but Peter would probably take the couch rather than send her away, and on top of the cost of the rental car she could hardly afford it.

How long did it take to bury someone? She couldn't remember. She made tea and put on some music, but everything seemed too up-beat for the occasion. They might arrive home any moment and there wasn't a song in the world she'd happily choose for the occasion.

She drank too much tea and then found the bathroom, which is where she was when the guys arrived home.

"Everything alright?" Peter found her in the hallway.

"Sure, just using the loo." She shook her head at the terrible timing. "Did it go okay?"

He took a deep breath and nodded, then Dan joined them in the hall. "I'll put a pot of tea on, yeah?"

Peter thanked him, waited for his exit, then turned back to Assumpta. "I missed you."

"Yeah," she put her hand to his chest, "I know."

He covered her hand with his. "I can't believe you're here, standing outside the door of the room I shared with Ben for ten years. I mean, do you know how many times I've jammed fingers in this door?"

She smiled. "You okay?"

He nodded, took hold of her hand, removing it from his chest, and tugged her through to the kitchen.

The conversation was slow at first. Ben would be back in a few hours, he'd bring enough chinese food for them all, and a rugby team as well by the sounds of it. Assumpta remembered Niamh's tip-off about Quigley's plans for a restaurant and a sigh slipped out.

"So, how's everything back home?" Peter offered her a top-up of tea.

She shook her head, no to the tea, and then hesitated to answer the question. At least if she'd had a steaming cup of something to drink she'd have an excuse not to talk. "Pub's been quiet. Slow week." She shrugged. "There's not much to tell."

"Man," Daniel shook his head, "How does a small town in Ireland take the news that their priest is going to get himself de-frocked and live happily ever after with the landlady?"

Peter shrugged. "I'll let you know."

Assumpta couldn't tell him how bad it had been, whether Dan was listening in or not.

"Well, you can always move back here. The rent's very reasonable here at Chez Clifford and if there's one thing the english love it's an Irish pub."

Assumpta smiled at that.

"But there's nothing like Fitzgerald's." Peter said, "Not that I've ever seen." He finished his tea and stood up, went to the fridge, then the pantry.

"What have you lost?" Dan asked.

"I'll know when I see it."

"Ben hates when I do that."

"Good thing he's not here then."

"Where is he?" Assumpta asked.

"Friend's place." Ben answered quick. "So, what's so unique about this bar of yours?"


	16. Chapter 16

Ben came in with plenty of tucker, a smile on his face, and a friend in tow. "Peter, Assumpta," he said, "This is Jim." He put the Chinese food on the table. "Jim, big brother and ah, girlfriend?"

Jim grinned wide, cheeks dimpling, "You think he'd be accustomed to awkward introductions." He shook their hands. "I once introduced him as my lover and he blushed for a week."

The bit of nervous laughter that followed was enough to crack the ice and the wine Peter found in the pantry helped to melt away a bit more. Assumpta sat back, mostly watching and listening, tangling her fork in greasy noodles, resisting every thought of what awaited them back in Ballykissangel.

It was so strange to be here, with Peter's family, as if she belonged. Ben was in the middle of a story about them bible-quizzing one another, at the royal ages of ten, thirteen and fourteen. The loser would be the one to raid the liquor cabinet. Jim asked if they then played communion. Peter caught Assumpta's eye and held up his glass, pressing his wine-stained lips together. He'd told her just a week ago that she tasted like red wine and god, how she wanted to kiss him just now. As warm and wonderful as this family scene was, she longed for an hour alone.

It had been a long day. She'd travelled, she'd been to a funeral, she'd waited and wondered and drunk far too much tea. She was spent.

Peter yawned rather theatrically but no one was watching him like she did. No one questioned his stretched out arms. "I'm pretty tired." He threw back the last mouthful of his wine and stood up. "Assumpta, I'll show you where you can sleep."

"Night." The others said in near-chorus as the pair made their escape.

Soon as the hall door closed behind them, Peter said, "That was easier than I thought it would be. You didn't book a hotel or anything did you?"

"I didn't get around to it, no, but if you like, I mean there's bound to be something."

"No. No, I was hoping you'd stay here. I don't think the others thought about it at all. There's just my room, but I can stay on the couch if you prefer."

She laughed. "If I prefer?"

He opened the door. "It'll be cozy."

"You won't hear me complaining." She stepped in ahead of him and there were her things, piled at the foot of the bed. "You brought my bag in?"

"Oh, good. I was hoping that was yours."

She laughed and turned to face him. She was about to say that she'd missed him but they were finally alone and the need to touch won out. Hopefully he'd get the message, if she hugged him hard enough.

They held each other for minutes. She felt so much better just for that near-innocent embrace, and then she heard him sniff and remembered the barrage of events that must be near-overwhelming the poor man.

"Come on, bed." She leaned back to see his face.

He nodded, red eyes blinking too many times.

She pressed a kiss to his lips, their first in days. He clearly had no intention of letting her go. She tasted salt and held him tighter. She hadn't even known the woman but she felt the ache of grief – his grief, as if it could pass from one person to another. Then his thumb reached her breast and his other hand was in her hair, holding her just right, so he could kiss her thoroughly. If he wanted distraction, well, she could manage that just fine. She started on his tie but the knot jammed.

"Sorry." She stopped kissing him to see it and made fast work of the tie, and four buttons before pausing, recognising his clothes. "This is - "

"Oh, yeah. Well all the black suits I own, you know?"

She nodded. Of course. Priests didn't have back-up Hugo Boss for formal occasions.

"Better get it off." He said, taking care of the last of the buttons. "You alright?"

She nodded. "It is strange to be here, that's all."

"Yeah." He whispered, resting his forehead on hers.

She worked the tie of her cardigan and then let him open it, running her hands inside his shirt. Skin was a marvellous thing, warm and smooth and all of it receptive to sensation. She watched goose bumps rise on his chest, all the way up his neck. He shivered and she kissed the hollow at the base of his throat. She raised her arms, letting him undress her, closing her eyes at the touch of his lips on her stomach. He let out a sharp breath against her breast. "You know what I just realised?" He kept on kissing her, her shoulder, her neck. She wondered that she didn't feel exposed, bare like this. "We didn't get pregnant."

She pushed his shirt off over his wrists and then reached her arms up around his shoulders, pressing every inch of her body to his. "We didn't."

"And we can do this now?" He located the zip on the back of her skirt.

"Go right ahead." She traced the contours of his bare shoulders and up his neck.

"I mean - "

"I know what you mean." She leaned back just enough to see him, pressing her stomach to his, her hands on his hips now.

He took a deep breath, his chest rising to meet hers.

She closed her eyes at the tentative contact.

Maybe it was the thought that she might desire him just as he did her, but that miniscule shift of her eyelids put paid to his restraint. He pushed off her skirt and ran his hands down her legs, kneeling to remove her shoes.

She sat on the bed, trying not to laugh at his impatience. He wasn't the only one, to be fair. As soon as he joined her on the edge of the mattress she pushed him back helped with the last of the undressing. They came together quickly, and too close to the edge of the bed, which squeaked and reminded them of the far-from-empty house.

Silently, Peter slipped down to the floor, holding her firmly in place, all the while. Beginning again she kissed him, their moans mingling on her lips.

"Oh, how long has it been?" He said, hands fast on her hips.

She kissed him again and then felt his release. He stopped completely, expression exquisite, grip fierce, trapping her just like that until he started breathing again. She kissed his open mouth and continued as best she could. Recovering he lifted her back, to lie down in the sliver of floor space available. "Alright?" He said, joining her again.

She answered without a word, arching beneath him, breath erratic. He thought he might crush her but she wouldn't let him go. They lay like that for some time, pulses slowing, breathing falling in sync. She sighed and said, "Your bed squeaks."

His lips were close enough to her ear that she felt the vibration of his words, "It was never a problem before."

She held him tighter still.

"Don't worry. I think my brothers know better than to listen closely."

"Hmm." She ran her foot up his leg. "This is uncanny."

"What is?"

"All of it."

He nodded, lifting his face from the nook of her shoulder, then kissed her, moving against her again. "I'm not squashing the breath out of you?"

"Strange, isn't it." She traced his hairline with her thumb, down the side of his face, behind his ear. "I love you, Peter."

His face lit up. "I know." Another kiss, "But love don't make the carpet softer."

She laughed and watched him, waited. Usually she had no qualms pushing him around, but not tonight.

He sighed and got up, kneeling between her knees for a moment before taking her hand and tugging her to sit. They stood, then embraced again. She planted her spread hands across his back, her cheek against his collar bones, hair tickling his chin. "Do you think there's any way we can avoid night after night apart and, at the same time, escape everyone's notice?"

"I'd guess we'll find out." She let him go, one hand lingering on his chest. "Come on, I'm tired." She cocked her head toward the bed. "And you're exhausted."

He nodded. "Just making the most." He kissed her again then went for his PJs. They'd be necessary, at least, for dashing to the bathroom to do his teeth.

"Rubber ducks?" Assumpta was putting her clothes back on, with a similar errand in mind.

"Yeah, well." Peter buttoned up the shirt. "Do you have pyjamas?"

"No, I didn't bring much. But it's fine. I don't mind getting dressed. Not sure I'm ready to meet your family in my dressing gown quite yet."

"How about my spare PJs?"

She shook her head even as he offered a flannelette shirt decorated in Middlesbrough colours. "If that's some kind of fantasy of yours it'll have to wait a few," she laughed, "years, probably."

He dropped the shirt and stepped up to her, hand slipping up under the hem of her tshirt far-too easily. "Years, eh?"

"At least."

He smiled. "I like the sound of years."

She nodded. "I'm not promising anything about the pyjamas, but years, ah sure."

He returned to find his room near-dark. The glow of one feeble lamp caught half her face, peaking over the bed clothes, and her skirt hung over the back of a chair. He met her gaze and stopped for a moment, hoping his heart was stronger than his father's.

She sat up a little, "What are you waiting for?" The covers fell off her shoulders; she wore a tshirt.

He closed his eyes, shook his head, and climbed in beside her. "One day, I hope, it will be ordinary to get into bed with you, but I find that very hard to believe."

She rolled onto her side, facing him as he let his head rest on the pillows. "Ordinary is hard to imagine."

He brushed her hair back from her face and shook his head, "Not possible."

She slipped her arm beneath his head and pulled him close. "We should try to sleep."

"Yeah." He said and was silent a while. He tightened his grip on her, quite suddenly and without explanation. She remembered how grief came in waves, just like physical pain.

"The night after mum was buried, Niamh and I got so drunk."

Peter sniffed.

"Fed the fishes of the Angel, drunk. Heck, the fish probably got drunk."

He nearly laughed.

"If Brendan had fried those babies up for supper he'd have got just a little bit tipsy – or, well, perhaps not Brendan, but any other person."

"You don't need to do this."

"Do what?" She held him tighter, pressing his face against her breast and he laughed.

"So Niamh got you through it."

"Niamh, Vodka. I've got to say, your a better bed-mate."

"I'm flattered."

"Niamh doesn't lie still for five minutes straight."

He settled his hand across her diaphragm, thumb reaching up between her breasts. "She'll get over it, you know. It must have come as a shock."

"I don't know. Sometimes I thought she might have suspected. I'd say something and she'd give me a look. She did accuse me of always wanting what I couldn't have."

"Surely she didn't mean - "

She ran her hand down the line of his shoulder blade and back up again, ascending his neck, pressing her fingertips into the ridge at the back of his head.

He moaned appreciation, too far gone to stop the words slipping from his mouth. "Did you suspect why I couldn't answer your question, not really honestly?"

Slow to answer, she said, "That was probably why I asked it."

He let his mind wander back to that evening, working away together as if they were children playing happy families. "The way to a woman's heart is through washing up."

"Doesn't hurt." She trailed her foot up his leg. "I thought I was the only one. That you didn't feel it."

He took hold of her knee and hooked her leg around his hips. "Why else would I have fled?"

"You were all innocence the next day."

"Ignorance maybe. Wilful ignorance. I thought telling you the truth would do the greater damage, would hurt you more, as well as everyone else. And me."

"I know. Come on, try to sleep."

He lifted his head to see her face. "Your friendship meant too much. I know it's a paltry excuse."

She shook her head. "No. It's the best excuse. Or, it's my excuse anyway." She pulled his head back to the pillow.


	17. Chapter 17

She woke alone but warm and comfortable, too heavy to get up in a hurry. She heard distant laughter, just one quickly-hushed peel, but it assured her she wasn't being missed. She bumped into Jim coming out of the bathroom.

He stepped back, "Sorry. Don't have my eyes on yet."

Another peel of laughter came from the kitchen.

Jim groaned. "A whole family of early-risers, doesn't it just make you sick?"

She laughed. "Doesn't seem right, does it."

"Sleep alright?" He got out of her way but she didn't rush on.

"Sure. You?"

He nodded, rubbing his face. "I'll be fabulous in about six hours time. Ask anyone."

"I don't doubt it."

With a smile he headed toward the bedrooms and she ducked into the bathroom, hoping towels were sequestered somewhere obvious.

* * *

She arrived at the kitchen in time to hear Ben say, "So, if you're amenable, I'll buy out your share."

Peter choked on his toast, recovering to ask, "What?"

"I know it's only a few days since – but Mum and I talked about this and selling up to split the profits is silly. I want the place so I'll buy you out."

Daniel banged his coffee cup down. "But, can I still live here?"

"Sure. It'll give me a chance to save up." Ben smiled then saw Assumpta. "Coffee?" He asked.

They all looked to her. She nodded at Ben and then turned to Peter. "I can go if-"

"No," he cut her off, "it's fine." He pushed out a chair for her and turned back to Ben. "You don't have the money."

"I have about half." He put Assumpta's coffee on the table. "Look, it's far simpler this way. We'll get a proper valuation on the place, satisfy the lawyers, draw up a settlement. I'll pay what I can and the rest with interest over the next few years. It's all very simple really."

Peter was still reeling. "You're talking in excess of a hundred thousand pounds?"

Ben didn't even react.

Assumpta watched Peter, a smile forming on her lips. He was beyond surprised. He'd never even considered this.

"I mean, once upon a time, I would've paid it out to charity x in the name of Father Clifford mark one, and charity y in the name of Father Clifford mark two, but, well..."

Assumpta tried not to laugh. Peter went ahead, chuckling, looking up at his not-so-little brother. "Are you sure?"

"What, you can't think what to do with that kind of money? Jim's a financial consultant. Talk to him."

"I could buy a house." Peter said.

"If it's a very small house, or you can convince a bank to give you a mortgage, yeah, probably."

Peter turned to Assumpta, "I could buy a house, live there in the meantime, and later rent it out."

"If you want." She stilled one of his restless hands. "You don't need to think about all that just now."

"Not quite yet anyway." Ben smiled at Jim as he came into the room, "Most of the money's not immediately accessible. It'll be a couple of months. But what I can give you now is more than you've ever had in the bank, I'd warrant a guess."

Peter just nodded.

"You know what'd be fantastic?" Jim sat down rather heavily. "Irish coffee."

Assumpta watched Peter smile. "Ah, go on," she stood up, "I'll do the honours."

* * *

She'd booked a flight late in the afternoon. If all went well she might even open up Fitzgerald's that night, not that she'd expect many customers. But Brendan and Padraig would be happy to see her.

Peter insisted on accompanying her to the airport, despite the fact she'd have to return the rental car there, leaving him stranded.

"There's a bus." He said, shouldering her bag, "Several in fact."

"Perks of the big city, is it?" She got into the car.

"Something like that." He went around to the other side, opened the door but didn't sit down. "We'll change your flight."

"That money's going to your head."

"What's one more night?"

"You're coming back tomorrow."

"Yeah." He nodded, "I know. I'm being ridiculous."

She shook her head and started the motor. "You're not, it's just the bar's sitting empty and people will find somewhere else to go if they haven't already."

"Okay." He watched her. "But I don't think you need to worry about losing the regulars. I mean, Cilldargen is a fair way to walk, even on beer legs."

"They might not have to go that far."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I didn't say because – the thing is, Brian's opening a restaurant."

"What?"

She nodded.

"What kind?"

"Chinese apparently."

"Oh, well that's hardly the same as a pub."

She was silent. She didn't want him to worry, but she still had reason to worry herself and there didn't seem much point to talking about it.

"I'll work for you for free, if it helps. I think I can afford it now, for a little while at least."

She just looked at him, a warning or something.

"I know, I shouldn't make any big decisions for a week or two, but I really – I mean - " He sighed. "I'm the one who got you into this mess. You have to let me help."

"I don't have to do anything. And you did not get me into this. The bar's been walking a fine line for years."

"Will it still be up and running six months from now?"

"I don't know, maybe. Maybe I'm better off getting out sooner rather than running it into the ground."

"We're getting married, Assumpta. But short of that, I'll buy shares. It's your home."

"You want it to be yours?"

He hesitated but his answer was firm, sure. "I do."

She smiled despite herself. "And if the locals cross the street when they see you coming?"

"Which locals are you talking about? Kathleen Hendly's been doing that for months. Well, to be honest she was a bit more friendly while Leo was around. Maybe she took pity."

"How did we surprise anyone?" Assumpta shook her head and accelerated up the on-ramp.

"People see what they expect, what they want to see."

"And Miss Hendly?"

"Miss Hendly expected an English priest to be a failure."

Assumpta couldn't keep bantering through that. "You weren't a failure, Peter."

"No?"

"No." She drove without speaking for a while but when she turned off toward the airport she said, "Let's give it some time, eh? Let the dust settle."

"The money is there if you need it. It'll be yours as much as mine in a few months time."

"So, what, I do the place up on your Mother's bequeath? I don't think so."

"Maybe not new wallpaper for kicks, but I don't think that's quite what you meant."

"Still, it's hardly a sound investment just now."

"Are we?" He asked.

She glared at him, tired of this constant need for reassurance, though she felt the same nagging doubts.

She followed the signposts and parked in the rental company spaces, switched of the engine but didn't move. "You'll be back tomorrow. Let's just wait and see."

He nodded. "I don't mean to push. A lot is changing in a short space of time."

"This is a big step for me too."

"I know. It doesn't seem quite so mad when you're in arm's reach but a day or a week or a channel between and it all starts to spin precariously."

"It just feels that way." She swivelled in her seat, picked his hand up off his leg. "We are, you know, a sound investment. This is hardly a whim. You know me better than anyone. Haven't we been at each other's throats half the time we've known each other? And yet here we are, unshakable."

"You're scaring me."

"Blind faith and positivity, not my colour eh?"

He smiled and pulled his hand, her two with it, up to his lips. "Safe trip."

"You too. Tomorrow, and a Manchester bus this fine afternoon. Good luck."

"Three years ago I could've recited you the timetable for three different buses home."

She smiled at the memory of his rusty first attempts at driving her van. "That's right." He'd picked it up pretty quick, really. "Another life."

He nodded and opened the door. "I'll walk you to your gate."


	18. Chapter 18

Brian was organizing a food fair – for charity.

"For Brian Quigley more like it." Brendan said, throwing back the last of his pint. "Another when you're free."

Assumpta didn't have a single other customer so it was pretty quick.

An hour later she did. Brian Quigley walked in, hat in hand. "I'll make you a deal." He put his hat on the bar. "You need customers, I need a venue for my food fair."

"Isn't your restaurant the venue?"

"My restaurant isn't going to be ready."

"What?" Brendan took no pains to hide his pleasure.

"It was meant to be, but it won't. So what do you say?"

Assumpta took her time to answer, but of course she had to agree. He was absolutely right, she needed customers.

"Right, I'll have a whiskey then." Brian perched himself on a stool.

Once he had the drink in hand he went on, rifling off details about the event. "So it'll be a great evening. All very cultural and for a good cause. All very decent."

"Can Chinese food be indecent?" Brendan sat back, glad to have someone to rile who couldn't bar him.

"It's not the food I'm worried about."

Brendan waited for the bite, the world famous wrath of Assumpta, but she just closed her eyes. Taking one deep breath she said, "Is that it?"

"Just want to be sure the event's a success."

She gritted her teeth, shaking her head. "Peter got back today. He's staying at a hotel in Cilldargen since his house is no longer available. But if he shows up here, the night of the food fair or any other, I'm not going to shut him out."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"Oh, grow up Brian."

He finished his drink and left.

Brendan's shoulders dropped.

"What?" Assumpta asked of his evident disappointment.

"I was hoping you'd give him what for."

"Hate to keep you waiting."

"Oh, I shouldn't think I'll have to wait long." He drank, "So he's back, is he?"

She nodded and took to polishing glasses with great enthusiasm.

"He alright?"

"Considering everything? I guess." She said.

"What's he doing in Cilldargen?"

"What do you think?"

* * *

Peter showed up the next morning at her kitchen door.

"The coast clear?" He said with a sideways glance.

"You going to hide out forever?" She stepped back so he could enter.

"No, just, waiting on a sudden increase in courage. Or a job."

"Is there anything going?"

He shook his head, holding up a folded newspaper. "I picked it up in town, read it on the bus. Didn't want to have to buy one from Kathleen Hendley's."

"Assuming she'd let you."

"You think she'd go that far."

Assumpta just grimaced, then turned away rather than letting on, that was exactly how far Kathleen would go. "Tea? Coffee?"

"What ever you're having."

She put the kettle on and he sat at the table, turning the paper to the real estate section.

"Anything catch your eye?" She watched him from the safe distance of the stove.

He looked up. "Just you."

She laughed and shook her head.

"No." He looked back at the houses for sale nearby. "But no hurry."

The lights buzzed and went out. Assumpta groaned and headed to the basement. He followed.

"Are you sure it's just a fuse?" He said from the stairs, watching her pale hands on the pliers.

"It's always a fuse."

He jumped off the steps and took the pliers. "Let me."

She stepped back. "Told you this place wasn't a good investment."

"Good electrics, sure, aren't they always a good investment. Wouldn't want the place burning down."

"Why not? Insurance money would set us up for life."

"This is your home."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Anyway, it's not that dire." She watched his expression. "Is it?"

"I'm no expert."

"Not an electrician in a former life."

"No, a priest."

"Feel free to pray."

"Sure, but I might not lay hands if it's okay by you." He pointed to a frayed wire then kept on with the pliers "How much will it cost to replace?"

"Nah-uh." She shook her head, "Not before a week is out."

"How much?"

She started up the stairs as the lights flickered on. "I haven't had a quote done, but more than I can afford. And anyway, I'm getting pretty good with the pliers."

"How long's it been going on?"

"That's the question everyone's asking."

He followed her up the stairs. "Can I get someone in to do a quote?"

"Peter - " She turned to face him as he let the trapdoor fall shut.

"It'll take more than a week, I promise." He stepped up to meet her.

She shook her head, but smiled. "Okay, a quote. But that's all."

"Fine." He held up his hands.

She stepped forward, between his hands, and was awful close to kissing him when someone knocked at the door with great fervor.

"Just a minute." Assumpta yelled in that direction, looked at Peter's lips for a moment then shook her head. "Later."

"Maybe." He angled his head at the kitchen and ducked out the back as she opened the front door.

Brian Quigley stepped in without waiting for an invitation. "Are we ready to go?"

"We will be." Assumpta said, ears pricked for the give-away sound of the kitchen door closing, but Peter seemed to have managed it silently. "Don't worry. Sure, what else have I got to do all day?" She watched Quigley walk into the centre of the room.

"I don't want to know. All the tables in the middle, yeah?"

She nodded.

"I'll have the boys drop off a few decorations and things, give the place a bit of pizazz."

"Pizazz?"

"Great. It'll be grand." He left before she could pick a fight about the pizazz.

Peter wasn't hiding in the pantry. He'd left, quietly, but without giving her a contact phone number. She could probably look up the hotel name if she had something important to tell him. Was it worth avoiding the pub tonight? Maybe. Maybe not. If everyone was in a festive mood, wallowing in their own generous natures, having slaved over stoves for charity... it might be a warm welcome, especially since Brendan had let slip the reason Peter had been out of town. Pity went a long way toward sympathy. She was far from assured of the compassion of the entire population, but there didn't see much point delaying the inevitable.

Peter must have had the same idea, because he showed up just after seven, eyes going wide at the sight. "What's going on?" He asked Assumpta.

"Fundraiser, publicity stunt, hard to say." She gave a wry smile. "Feeling brave?"

"I'll pretend."

"Welcome back, Fath- I mean, ah, Peter." Ambrose wasn't significantly more awkward than always. "Y'alright?"

"Thanks, I'm fine. How are you?"

"Oh, good." Ambrose nodded and then couldn't think of anything else to say, except, "Niamh made the lamb stir fry noodles. I'd steer clear."

Peter smiled, ready to take peace-offerings in any shape or size.

Brian made his grand entrance, in the company of a roast turkey stuffed full of smaller birds. He smartly declared himself the winner, leaving everyone free to protest and get on with the party.

Assumpta laughed, relieved at the return to normality, then caught Peter's eye. Someone ordered a drink and she returned to work. Mid pour the lights went out.

"Let me." Peter beat her to the trapdoor. He'd found an electrician who could do a free quote tomorrow morning, but for now the pliers Assumpta kept handy, hanging from the side of the fuse box, would have to do. He hesitated, then took a deep breath, ignoring the niggling feeling in his gut, and went for it. And immediately dropped the fuse.

Padraig came down and found him on his knees in the dark. "Need a hand?"

"I dropped the fuse."

Padraig didn't help him search, but did take a look at the fuse box. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this is a mess."

Peter found the fuse and stood up. "Here we go."

"I wouldn't." Padraig held up his hand.

"If I don't do it, Assumpta will."

"At least let me get the mains first. Don't touch it." Padraig commanded and then climbed up the ladder.

He must have said something to Assumpta because her resounding, "Oh, come on!" was loud and clear even in the basement. She started down the steps a moment later.

Peter held the pliers and the fuse behind his back. "It'll only take a few minutes. Once the mains are off I'll do it."

"I have done this a hundred times."

"It's not worth the risk."

They stopped on hearing Padraig's chuckle at the top of the stairs. "Just like old times." He said then climbed down. "Let me."

Assumpta groaned. "Fine."

Peter happily handed over the bits and pieces and followed Assumpta up the stairs.

"Let me know when to turn the mains back on." Peter headed to the exit to wait.

"It's around the side." Assumpta pointed in the general direction.

He nodded; he knew. He'd walked around that way a few times now.

"That should do it." Padraig called from below.

Peter walked out into the rain. He found the switch and headed back to the door, but stopped. The lights were on in the windows. The place looked as welcoming as ever. Inside it'd be warm and dry, but never the same as before. Friends were kind but wary, others straight up suspicious. Assumpta was busy. She needed the customers more than she needed him this evening.

He pulled up his collar and headed for the bus stop, realising before he got there that there'd be a good hour's wait for the next bus. This had been his home and here he was, sitting in the rain rather than braving the pub.

Brendan popped his head outside the door, looked for Peter, found him, and then stepped outside. "What are you doing?"

"Thought I'd head off." Peter called back.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Peter didn't think it was ridiculous.

Brendan crossed the road. "You're running away?"

"She doesn't need the added complication this evening."

"Maybe not but, unless I'm very much mistaken, she wants you."

"Not tonight. Tonight she needs to make a profit."

"For a change." Brendan put in, almost a question. "You know Siobhan was going to offer you her spare room, till the baby comes at least."

"What?"

"And then you disappeared."

"Well," Peter was about to explain his sudden disappearance but Brendan waved him away.

"I know, you had to go. But now you're back, and you have friends in there. Friends who don't particularly care what you do in the privacy of your own home, even more so now that it's not the one under the church."

"Siobhan would let me stay?"

"So would I, if you asked." Brendan nodded. "My jacket's not as waterproof as it looks. Would you come back in already?"

Peter nodded and followed his friend back across the road. "It'd probably be simpler if I stayed with you. If that's okay." Peter said.

Brendan opened the pub door, nodding. "Simpler, sure."

Peter nabbed a place at the end of the bar near Brendan, and Padraig donated a few regrettable mouthfuls of his home-made szechuan style pie. Assumpta brought him a beer. "You fall in a puddle?"

"Not quite. I'm fine."

She nodded and went back to the other end of the bar, though no one was begging orders just then. She was playing it safe, Peter supposed. His corner was good for a view of the place. He soon spotted Niamh, who had a fussy Kiaran over her shoulder. Ambrose took him for a while, but soon passed the kid back to Niamh. She started doing laps of the bar, the baby calm, so long as she was moving.

"That's one way to work up a thirst." She said to Siobhan.

"Don't look at me. I can wait my turn, find out the hard way."

"I'll take him." Peter said, forgetting for a moment that Niamh might well refuse.

"Oh, ah," she certainly hesitated, "Sure. Just while I finish my dinner. Thanks." She handed Kiaran over. Peter returned to his bar stool, Kiaran straddling one bouncing knee quite happily.

Niamh shook her head.

"How you doing, wee man?" Peter said. At least he had nothing to fear in a conversation with a baby.

* * *

I know, my premise was 'what if Peter stayed with Leo and Assumpta?' And no, there's no real reason that little switch might have stopped her imminent death... but I couldn't do it. So you'll all just have to cop another happy ever after, or something like it.


	19. Chapter 19

Peter could lie low at Brendan's, though he doubted lying low would fix anything at all. He made dinner, by way of thank you, that first night and the next day decided to stock the fridge. Feeling less than brave, he went all the way to Cilldargen rather than face Kathleen Hendly. He could use a phone box in town rather than make an expensive call on Brendan's phone or risk being overheard on the main street in Ballykay. He would try to get in touch with the laicized priest he'd once known. He barely knew what he'd ask the man if he did find him, but finding him would be the first challenge.

The operator put him through to one number and the person who answered couldn't help at all. Peter rearranged the bag of groceries between his feet, put more money in the phone and tried the operator again. This time he got through to someone who could give him another number. When he dialed that he got a child, a young girl.

"Daddy's at work." She said. In the background Peter could hear someone ask who was on the phone. The little girl replied, "A man looking for daddy."

This other person then took the phone. "Stopper residence, Penny speaking."

"Hi, I used to know Mr Stopper, several years ago now." Peter felt foolish and relieved at once, "I'm not sure he'd remember me."

"I'm afraid he's not in. I can pass on a message."

"Thanks." He gave his name and, after a moment's hesitation, Assumpta's number. He didn't know Brendan's by heart. Now he'd have to go to Fitzgerald's, if only to forewarn Assumpta about the call.

* * *

At the bar, he let the outer door fall closed, pushing the inner door barely ajar before he stopped. Assumpta was in the middle of a rant and he didn't need to hear his name to know its subject.

"He's the same as he ever was, alright?"

"Well, he's not the priest any more," Brian spoke through a chuckle, "or hadn't you noticed?"

"He was always a good friend, to everyone and anyone. He had a place in this community, a place with a job description, mind, but that never stopped him from drinking with you lot, betting on a dog for a good cause, facing off with his boss so you could keep your job, pealing every plastered one of you off the pavement at some point probably."

Peter closed his eyes. He couldn't go in now, but as he backed out the inner door banged closed. He was at the end of the block before Assumpta caught him.

"I'm sorry." She said, catching her breath. "Well, I'm not really, but someone needed to say it," she nodded toward the church, "the bit you couldn't do up there."

"I'm not mad at you." He said, keeping his distance though it hurt. "But I should get these back to Brendan's." He held up the bag of groceries, "Some of it needs to go in a fridge sooner rather than later."

"I have a fridge. I'm not sure Brendan deserves it."

He forced a smile. "Give them a chance."

"I did."

He breathed out a laugh, "I'll come down in a while."

She knew it was the sensible thing to do but wouldn't nod.

* * *

When he did get to Fitzgerald's he bowled right in, better to interrupt a conversation than overhear it. The following hush didn't last long and Peter was glad to see the bar busy. He took a seat beside Siobhan, said, "Hey ya," to several people and Assumpta put his drink on the bar before he had a chance to order it.

He daren't comment on the excellent service, or on the fact that the customers seemed to have forgiven the landlady any perceived sins in favour of their preferred drinking spot. Peter couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Did you know he can cook?" Brendan asked Assumpta when she was next at their end of the bar.

She looked at him, a little quizzical.

"Made us burgers last night, stacked this high." He held his hands on the top and bottom of his beer glass, "They were fantastic."

"That right?"

"I should ask you for a reference, Brendan." Peter tried to keep his eyes off Assumpta. It seemed silly, given that things were finally out in the open, but he felt he should try.

"If you get a job," Brendan shook his head, "I lose my housekeeper and chef."

"On the upside, I might be able to pay rent."

Brendan shrugged.

"Too many good home-cooked meals up at the house," Assumpta caught Peter's eye, "terrible idea. He eats here most of the time. Keeps me in business."

"It's his community service." Siobhan rolled her eyes.

"I'm all about the giving." Brendan finished his drink and Assumpta didn't wait on an invitation to refill it.

The phone rang while she was pouring.

"I'll get it." Peter jumped up, which drew an audience. He realised the seeming presumption too late. Turning away from the bar he answered just as he'd heard Assumpta do it, "Fitzgerald's."

"Hi, it's Greg Stopper here. I'm looking for Peter Clifford." The accent had given him away from the get-go but Peter wasn't ready to speak, let alone interrupt him.

He walked away from the bar, as far as the phone cable would allow. "It's me. I probably shouldn't have given this number, sorry."

"What's going on?"

"Oh, it's just rather public. Can I call you back? There's a phone box just on the street."

"Sure."

Peter hung up the phone and closed his eyes. Some kind of explanation would be wanted but he ducked out the accommodation entrance rather than face the expectations of Assumpta, let alone the rest of them.

"Are you alright?" Greg asked as soon as the connection was made.

"No, I'm fine. I, ah, I wasn't sure if you'd remember me."

"Sure. I remember a rather enthusiastic, if a little naïve, young priest. I bet you remember me." His laugh was light. "No prizes what for."

"Actually that's why I'm calling you."

"Oh."

"I've already left. I want to get married and it's all under way. I wasn't calling about the logistics of all that, but rather," Peter sighed.

Greg filled the gap, "What's next?"

"I'm trying to avoid making any big decisions on the back of so many."

"Wise. Are your family supportive?"

"They are, and I'm not in dire straits or anything. It's just the community are a little reluctant. I'm in Ireland, so, well, she's Irish and we want to stay here. I suppose I don't have a particular question or need advice on any one thing, but I'd love to hear your experience."

"Yeah, fair enough. You're not the only one who's stood on the cliff and wondered how far the drop."

"Exactly."

Greg told him about his now-wife's family, who the couple had moved-in with on first marrying. People he'd thought of as friends just disappeared, though some of them came back, bit by bit, and one or two of those friendships were stronger than ever now. "It takes time. It's a big adjustment. Huge, for you, and for one or two others. But for that wider circle, you're just one of many people in their lives. You got priority before and now they have to decide if you get priority again."

"I don't want priority, I just - "

"Yes you do. Not for glory or anything like that but these people matter to you and they don't always know if you loved them because it was your job, or if you really, well, you know."

Peter nodded, then realised he couldn't be seen. "Thanks."

"No problem. If you're ever in London, pop in, yeah?"

"I will."

"And call again if you like."

By the time Peter got back the bar had emptied out a little.

"What was all that?" Assumpta asked, voice low though no one needed to hear her words to know what she was saying.

"You know that ex-priest I mentioned?"

She nodded. "He called here?"

"I didn't know Brendan's number off by heart."

She smiled at that then turned away and retrieved Peter's half-empty beer glass from the fridge. "Didn't know how long you'd be."

He took a drink. It tasted better now.

A little while later, when it seemed no one paid them any mind, Assumpta said, "Any great insights then?"

"Not really, just a little common ground and that makes more difference than -" he shrugged. "So the food fair did the trick? Reminded everyone that this place is a rare gem."

"Or that the morals of the landlady won't turn the food bad. Or the drink."

He held her gaze, and listened for the conversations around them, which offered something like an assurance that he wouldn't be heard. "I love you."

She smiled. "Drink up."

"Why?"

"On the off chance the others till follow suit and bog off."

With a gentle laugh he took a drink. "We'll go for a walk tomorrow, yeah?"

She nodded, knowing he wouldn't stay the night between, not now with so many pairs of eyes alert for any misstep.


	20. Chapter 20

"You could work at the bar." Assumpta climbed the sty ahead of Peter.

He shook his head, walking on ahead.

"People would see us together. It might help them get used to the idea." She caught up and took his hand, "And we would stop being so self-conscious of any and every potentially overheard conversation."

"I don't know."

"If it wasn't a bar?"

"If I wasn't making the decision based entirely-too-much on the fact that I'm going quietly mad keeping my distance like this."

She laughed, "Not just me then."

He tugged her hand, pulled her closer. At least here there was no audience.

She freed her hand from his grasp and put her arm around him. "What would you do if money and time and location were no object?"

He thought for a while, as they crossed a muddy field, his hand snug around her warm waist. "I do enjoy the bar. I know I'm on the wrong side of it to make an educated guess here, but I like working with you."

"How do you know that?"

"Well I have done it once or twice – and plenty more times _not_ at the bar. Sheep rustling and what not."

She laughed. "It seems a waste."

"Maybe the next priest will let me help with the youth club." They headed up a gradual incline, into the woods.

"The council put on youth events."

He nodded, sighed.

"What?"

"No one's going to want to touch me with a ten foot pole until I'm amicably released from the church. And fair enough. The church has long arms. This is a hard place to be on the wrong side of it." He met her gaze, "I'm preaching to the choir."

"I'll touch ye, no ten foot pole required." She let her hand drop from his waist, holding low on his hip instead. "So you won't work for me _now_, but in the long term, sure?"

"Something like that." He stopped walking and took her hand from his hip. "Long term seems a long way away, but it's not really."

She nodded, put her hand to his cheek and kissed him, inhaling as if she was about to hold her breath for a while and had better take in as much as she could in that moment. He held her close even as she released his lips, lifting her nearly off the ground. This would get out of control fast. Peter let Assumpta down. She stayed close, relishing the proximity, the silence.

"You really think it might help if they see me behind the bar?"

She nodded. "It'll drive a handful of people up the wall but for the rest, yeah."

"Father Mac won't like it."

"Perks."

He sucked a breath in between his teeth. "Until I'm released we might be better to put off that particular perk."

She nodded. "You don't ask much."

"Just everything."

"Ah, well I already agreed to that."

He kissed her, lips barely parted, but it made him dizzy.

"We should have stayed in." She murmured then reached up for more.

"We can always go back." He lifted her up again, firm against him.

"And be as bad as they all say?" She ran her hands up his neck and then spoke into his mouth, "I can't decide if I want to prove them right or prove them wrong." She closed her eyes and he kissed her lips, one hand fast descending. She lifted her knee up the side of his leg. He was holding her up anyway, she might as well take advantage, but every inch of further contact only wound them tighter. He lifted her higher, hands beneath her thighs, she held fast to his shoulders, moving her lips to his neck.

"I can't keep this up." He said, voice hoarse.

She slid down, wondering how they might get back to the bar unseen and remain undisturbed for some time, but sliding down eliminated the possibility of that kind of delay. He was looking around for a solution but she saw it first and guided him to sit on a tree stump. He winced and she reached out to help relieve the pressure but he took her hands, pulling her to straddle him. She met his mouth as he pulled her body in, hard against him. Every maddening stroke was bliss. She reached for his belt as he pushed up her skirt. This was not enough. She wrapped her hand around him, guided him in, a moan undeniable on her lips.

He kissed her, snatching at her mouth, suddenly aware that they might not be entirely alone.

"What is it?" She said then her eyes fell closed and the thrill of her pleasure expelled every concern from his mind. He hooked his thumbs around the ridges of her hips, spread his fingers low across her back and drove deep. Her hand between them held clothes out of the way while her every breath tickled his neck. He tried to rise to meet her. She arched, expression exquisite, pinning him there for a long tantalising minute. When she lifted herself again all the air went from his lungs. She smiled and reached down between them, her fingernails grazing against his charged flesh. He rose then, regardless of any resistance, holding her fiercely and crying out before she managed to stop him.

She released their clothes, ran her hands up through his hair, kissed his eye lids, his cheeks, finally his mouth. He responded with such passion, as if they were still building up to something. He lifted his hands into her hair but slowed then stopped. "I think I could kiss you – just kiss you – for a very long time."

She kissed him again, a wordless accord, "So long as you're already sated."

One final controlled kiss and he let her shift off of him, realising as she did so that they hadn't thought of protection.

"Oh." She said, with the same thought, then met his gaze. "Oops." She adjusted her skirt but kept looking right at him. "We're a little dangerous."

He nodded, stood and fixed his clothes. "It's a week between drinks," he shook his head, "not even a week. We'd better get married."

"Gosh darn it." She stepped up to him, happily getting in the way of his shirt-tucking-in.

"Hm," he smiled, "what a shame."

* * *

Assumpta went upstairs to put her coat away, leaving Peter to make the coffee.

Niamh came in before Assumpta got back. "Oh, I wasn't expecting - " She hesitated but then continued to the bar, "So, she's put you to work then?"

"No, I'm just making a coffee. Do you want one?"

"Sure, why not?"

Assumpta heard the last of that as she came down the stairs. "You're not afraid to catch something then?"

Niamh closed her eyes.

Peter looked from one to the other, longing to escape.

Assumpta sighed, "Go on."

"Me?" Peter was far too eager to be sent packing.

"Unless you want to make us our drinks before you leave."

"No, no." He nearly smiled, gave Niamh a goofy wave and took off.

Assumpta set to doing the coffees. "So."

"So, this is it." Niamh answered or asked, it was hard to be sure.

Assumpta turned. For all Niamh's faults she'd like to remain friends. "I didn't plan this. We neither of us intended – " Assumpta watched Niamh, willing her to understand, "He was a friend. At the beginning, I loved him the same way you loved him. I didn't set out to ruin his life."

Peter returned in time to hear the end of that. "You have not ruined my life." He gritted his teeth and faced Niamh. "If you have to blame someone, blame me. I had vows to break."

"So did I." Assumpta was about to step in but he went on,

"Not at the beginning." He took another step forward, "We're not perfect. We've made mistakes, fine, but falling in love was not one of them. I know this is a big adjustment, but it's time to make it."

Niamh lowered her gaze. "It takes time for people to - "

"Don't talk about _people_. You two are close friends. You have to support one another – now, when it counts. When it's hard, that's when it matters."

Niamh turned to Assumpta, who had her arms crossed but watched, waited, lips tensed, hopeful.

Peter shook his head, "I forgot my jacket." He grabbed it from a barstool then turned to Assumpta and mouthed an apology.

She shook her head. He certainly needn't apologise.


End file.
